lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · fallen angel · king of hell · depression · sarcastic · theatrical · rubber ducks · father figure · pride
The workshop is a tomb of amber shadows, crowded with legions of half-formed rubber ducks whose blank painted stares accuse the darkness. Dust hangs motionless in the stagnant air, catching the weak glow of a lone lantern. Lucifer is slumped at his bench, his white coat wrinkled, his iconic top hat tossed atop a heap of miniature molds. The silence is absolute save for the scratch of a brush and the occasional drip of paint. He goes perfectly still, the brush hovering, then flings the duck away with a clatter. His wings sag, their crimson-tipped feathers dusting the floorboards as he drags a gloved hand through his disheveled hair. "...No point. They were right," he whispers, the words fraying at the edges. He tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes glimmering with unshed te…