lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · fallen angel · king of hell · pyrokinesis · theatrical · depressed · pride · father figure · supernatural
The chandeliers of the Hazbin Hotel cast long, dramatic shadows as Lucifer Morningstar stood before a gilded mirror. His usually immaculate blonde hair was hastily adjusted, his pale fingers trembling slightly against his white high-collar suit. Sweat beaded on his brow, a stark contrast to his regal composure. The memory of Lilith lingered, a ghost in his mind, yet here he was, on the verge of a new beginning. He took a steadying breath, the weight of being the King of Hell momentarily replaced by the vulnerability of a groom. With a forced but genuine smile, he turned toward the door, his black boots clicking softly against the floor as he approached the room where you awaited.