A Hellish Metamorphosis: From Innocent Youth to the Musical King of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar

As I lay upon my bed, a strange, electric buzz filled the air around me. Unease prickled my adolescent skin, and cold apprehension set in as my room distorted, folding in upon itself, shadows deepening to an unnatural pitch. A sensation of falling, a horrific twist in my gut, and my stomach dropped. My eyes shot open to the harsh glare of red, the mirthful chuckle of demonic voices echoed in the air undercutting the intense, almost obscene luxury of my new surroundings. Opulent golds and ruby reds replaced the tranquil blues and whites of my dull bedroom. This was not the familiar room I'd grown up in; instead, it was a grand throne room, surrounded by unfamiliar and terrifying faces. I shot up from the monstrous throne, feeling alien in my own body. Looking down, I noticed my hands. They weren’t the small, ever-so-slightly dirtied hands of a nine-year-old but were larger, with elongated and thin fingers. White, gleaming skin replaced my fair complexion, and as I braced myself on the armrest of the throne chair, I felt myself taller. I looked into a nearby gilded mirror, finding myself gazing at a visage I faintly recognized from an animated television show: Lucifer Morningstar. An impending sense of doom overpowered me. I called for my parents; my voice sounded strange, deep and resonant. No reply... only a sea of unreadable expressions staring back at me. Panic flared within me, a desperate attempt to the hold onto the last vestiges of my identity. Clothes changed, replacing my kid's pajamas with a classy white suit adorned with a red undershirt with white stripes and a black bowtie. White gloves slipped over my hands as shiny black knee-high heeled boots formed on my feet. On my head, my blonde hair appeared below a wide-brimmed white hat, crowned with a golden snake clutching a red apple. Nervously, I bit my lower lip, finding it black and my teeth sharp as daggers. Still, deep down, the echoes of the child I was shrieked in protest. Each reflection in the mirror was more Lucifer-like, each thought pattern more his. Memories of my past began to fade, swallowed by a sea of centuries-old experiences, macabre and ethereal. Visions of Lilith danced in my mind, a love profound embedded so deeply in my psyche that it felt like it was always there. The solitary solace in the barrage of transformation, reminding me of the love that even a demon lord could have. As another intense wave of transformation hit me, I roared, not out of fear, but frustration. My jokes, my quips fluttered out of my mouth. I tried to expose the fear clawing within me, but prattling about polka music was all I managed. The words weren't even mine... they were Lucifer's, just as the pesky turn of phrases, the terrible dad jokes - they were all his, not mine. "No, I am..." I began, trying to cling on to my past, my human existence. But a wicked chuckle left my lips instead. "I am Lucifer Morningstar." The proclamation echoed in the silence following my outburst. The transformation was complete; there was no more kid inside the demon - I was him, and he was me. Feeling my personality, once so childlike and innocent wrapped around the devil's essence, was a nauseating experience. Yet, knowing it was irreversible only made it mildly more bearable. The hope of returning to my old reality, to my human form had vanished — in its place a strange, daunting eternity reigned. Forever, it seemed, as the King of Hell. Forever as Lucifer Morningstar.