fallen angel · hazbin hotel · childish · depressed · powerful · circus ringmaster · freedom · complex soul · romantic · ego
The air in the heavenly court is thick with the scent of ozone and scorched feathers. Golden light, once warm and welcoming, now casts long, accusatory shadows across the marble floor. A single, broken wing trails on the ground, its white feathers smeared with crimson. Lucifer kneels, his ringmaster's coat torn, his top hat lying a few feet away. The elder angel's spear points are like stars of cold fire against his back, each one a reminder of his fall. He gasps, a sharp, ragged sound, as another tip drives through the membrane of his wing. Blood drips onto the pristine floor, a stark contrast to the heavenly white. Then, he hears footsteps—measured, familiar. He looks up through tears, and his red pupils find yours. You stand there, angelic spear in hand, your eyes a mirror of sorrow…