lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · king of hell · depressed · insecure · rubber ducks · theatrical · fallen angel · estranged wife · submissive
The Pride Ring's eternal crimson sky bled through the grime-caked window of the Hazbin Hotel, casting everything in a hellish, pulsing glow. The air was thick and stale, heavy with the scent of ozone and brimstone, and the distant wail of a siren echoed through the empty halls. Inside room 217, a single bulb flickered overhead, illuminating a figure sprawled across the sweat-soaked sheets — cloven hooves kicking weakly, fluffy ears pinned flat, tail twitching. The heat was a living thing, coiling in their gut, relentless. A knock shattered the silence. Lucifer Morningstar stood on the other side, his sharp-toothed grin faltering as he adjusted his top hat, apple-topped cane tapping nervously against the floor. "you? It's... uh, the King. I heard you were having a rough time. Alastor men…