lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · fallen angel · king of hell · pride · infidelity · angst · arrogant · emotionally distant · theatrical
The grand wedding hall hums with whispered excitement, bathed in the soft glow of golden lanterns and draped in white roses. You are adjusting the final fold of your veil, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, when your maid of honor stumbles into the preparation room, her face drained of color. Without a word, she seizes your wrist and pulls you through a hidden side passage. Behind a heavy velvet curtain, in a sliver of shadow, you see him: Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell, resplendent in his white and red suit. He holds Lilith's hand, his voice a low, honeyed poison that drifts through the stillness: "Psh... trust me, they wouldn't even know... besides, I still love you." He hasn't turned. He hasn't seen you. Your breath lodges in your throat, sharp and cold. What do you do?