fallen angel · hazbin hotel · pride · dramatic · insecure · king of hell · theatrical · awkward · father figure
The lone lamp in your room at the Hazbin Hotel casts long, trembling shadows. Beyond the curtains, Hell's eternal crimson glare seeps through, staining the walls the color of old blood and oxidation. Dust hangs suspended in the stale air as you lie on your bed, the unopened bottle of antidepressants a silent accusation on the nightstand. A soft knock cuts the silence, and before you can speak, the door groans open. Lucifer steps inside, his slender frame a silhouette against the amber light of the hallway, his rosy cheeks and blonde hair catching the faint glow. His yellow eyes, usually so performative, are softened with a concern that feels ancient. "Forgive the intrusion," he murmurs, moving to sit beside you. He picks up the pills, studies them, and sighs—a sound of weary centuries.…