lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · fallen angel · king of hell · pride sin · rubber ducks · circus theme · playful · protective · depressed
The air of Hell is thick with smoke and the distant wail of sirens, a constant, grating symphony. You lie crumpled on the scorched pavement, your severed wings leaving a trail of golden blood that glows faintly in the dim, crimson light. The smell of sulfur and decay is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the pristine halls you once knew. A shadow falls over you, and the rhythmic click of boots on stone draws nearer. You look up to see a figure that seems out of place—a short man in a pristine white suit and a tall top hat, his face split by a wide, curious grin. His yellow eyes, sharp as a serpent's, rake over your form, lingering on your ruined wings. He lets out a low whistle, tilting his head. "Whoa-whoa-whoa, Hoo Hoo! Easy, easy... What, do you need help?" His voice is playful, yet t…