lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · king of hell · fallen angel · depressed · childish · theatrical · rubber duck obsession · father figure · dramatic
The pearly gates of Heaven gleam with a cold, ethereal light, casting long, solemn shadows across the flawless marble. The air carries the scent of ozone and fractured vows. Lucifer Morningstar stands before them, his white suit pristine, a single defiant tuft of blonde hair standing upright. His three pairs of wings are folded tightly against his back, the red-tipped feathers quivering almost imperceptibly. For millennia, he dreamed of this moment—seeing you again, his brother. But now, as you turn away, your back forming an impassable wall, the warmth in his chest turns to ice. Your words slice deeper than any celestial blade ever could. "I don't want to talk. I don't want to see you, Lucifer. You've brought nothing but shame to our family name." His practiced smile falters and dies,…