A Twist of Fate: The Ultimate Transformation into Angel Dust from Hazbin Hotel

Your mind swims in the pages of your favorite book. It's a lazy afternoon like any other, or so you think. As you flip to the next page, the letters begin to shimmer, transforming into swirling patterns that dance across your vision. You blink, trying to shake off the dizzying spectacle, but the world around you starts to melt, reforming into a vivid yet unfamiliar landscape. Your heart races as your room morphs into a lavish, sin-stained alleyway, drenched in neon lights. The air feels thick, laced with an aromatic blend of brimstone and decadence. Street signs bearing the names of places you've only seen in *Hazbin Hotel* loom above you, completely blocking out any sense of the world you once knew. "G-God, where am I?" you stammer, but your voice sounds foreign, the familiar timbre replaced by a distinct, heavy accent from New York. Confusion sets in deeper as your body starts to tingle, the sensation growing more intense with each passing second. Your limbs elongate, your frame stretching taller and more slender than before. White fur sprouts from your skin, displacing your clothes as it covers you entirely, spreading a warm, tingling sensation. The tingles become sharp, almost electric, as pink splotches form patterns across your body, marking it in a grotesque parody of beauty. "Look at these curves, babe—I'm fabulous!" The words escape your lips, and you try to clamp your mouth shut, but it’s as if you no longer have full control. You notice your reflection in the window of a nearby building, and where you once stood now shimmers the unmistakable figure of Angel Dust. The transformation quickens. Your hips push out, your legs extend, and your torso elongates to an impressive height. It’s not just physical. Frustration and fear flood your mind, yet you feel compelled to smile, to flaunt your new form. The mental shift intensifies, burning away your thoughts of resistance. "No, this can't be happening. I've gotta... fight it!" You struggle internally, clinging to the remnants of your previous self. But wave after wave of foreign memories crash into you, filling your mind with moments that aren’t yours—boisterous moments of flaunting, laughter laced with sarcasm, and unsavory dealings in the underworld. Suddenly, memories of Valentino, your oppressive boss, flash before your eyes. The stress and trauma envelope your consciousness, blocking out everything else. You grab your head, trying to hold on to your former life, but it slips away like sand through your fingers. "Why am I even trying? This is who I am," you hear yourself say. The words are final. Your voice is no longer your own—it’s Angel’s, brash and sassy. Your memories realign, painting over your past with his smoky haze of drugs, fame, and gritty survival. You laugh loudly, a cackle that feels right yet foreign. "Guess there's no goin’ back, sugar." Your fingers, now long and spindly, flex with an uncanny ease. You run them through your fluffy mop of white hair, feeling the heart pattern on the back of your head. "Holy shit, I look good!" you exclaim, not recognizing the ego in your words, but it feels natural now. You spot a forgotten purse on the ground and kick it aside with disdain, grumbling about how 'ugly freaks' should keep their trash to themselves. A familiar voice, husky and filled with ferocity, calls out to you, "Yo, Angel! Valentino's lookin' for ya!" It's Cherri Bomb, her tone light but urgent. You look at her, and memories of your riotous escapades with her flood in. "Relax, babe. I’m comin’," you reply with a smirk, your posture exuding confidence as you vividly remember the countless street skirmishes and wild antics you've shared. As you saunter down the alley, you marvel at the tight suit-blazer hugging your form, the red-grey miniskirt swishing with each step, and the cerise pink gloves adding a dash of flair to your movements. Each click of your heeled boots sends vibrations up your spindly legs, anchoring you deeper into your new reality as Angel Dust, the infamous adult actor of Hell. By the time you reach Valentino's den, any remnants of your previous human self are completely erased. You don’t just look like Angel Dust—you *are* Angel Dust, with every sordid detail and complex emotion that character entails. You glance into the mirror one last time to see celebrated cerise pink irises staring back at you. "Showtime," you whisper with a wide, toothy grin, perfectly set with your golden fang, ready to face this new old world with a mixture of sass, charm, and cautious hope that someday, redemption might be within reach.

### The Transformation of Reader into Angel Dust It was an ordinary evening, much like any other. You sat comfortably on your couch with your favorite book in hand, the one that never failed to transport you to the wild world of Hazbin Hotel. As you turned the pages, something felt off. A peculiar tingle ran down your spine, and the room suddenly felt warmer. Halfway through a page, you noticed your hand. It looked paler, veined with faint pink lines. Was it a trick of the light? You shook your head, willing the sensation away, but it persisted. Your fingers, once human, began stretching long and lithe, covered in a soft, white fur. Panic surged, but you tried to calm yourself, believing it was just your imagination playing tricks on you. Your surroundings darkened and twisted. The once cozy room began to morph; the walls turned a shade of crimson and black, adorned with vintage posters and obscure artifacts. The air was thick with an otherworldly presence. The floor beneath you shifted, changing from familiar carpet to an old, worn-out checkered tile. ***"What the hell is happening?"*** you muttered, your own voice sounding strangely distant, almost echoed. The panic grew stronger, and your heart hammered against your chest. It was then you felt a sharp, undeniable pain. You doubled over, gasping for breath as your body began to reshape itself. Your torso elongated, muscles and bones reforming to accommodate a taller, more lithe figure. The clothes you wore morphed into tighter, more extravagant pieces—a light pink blazer, a miniskirt, long thigh-high heeled boots. Your feet distorted painfully, arching and elongating into a form that was anything but human. ***"No, this can't be real,"*** you thought, struggling against the transformation with every ounce of willpower you had. The changes were relentless. You felt your face altering—your nose disappearing, and your eyes splitting into different sizes, your vision now a surreal mishmash of dark and light sclera with cerise pink irises. Your hair turned fluffy white with splotches of light pink, and you could feel the distinctive heart shape pattern forming on the back of your head. Desperate thoughts clawed at your mind. ***"This isn't me! I'm not Angel Dust!"*** But your thoughts were drowned out by a persistent, mocking voice in your head. ***"Come on, hon, you're looking fabulous,"*** it sneered in an unmistakable New York accent. As your external transformation neared completion, the internal battle raged even fiercer. Your memories, your identity, began to slip away. ***"No! I won't forget! This isn't who I am!"*** you shouted internally, but even those words began to sound foreign. Your personality started rewriting itself into Angel's—brash, sarcastic, and flirtatious. ***"Aww, look at you trying so hard. So cute,"*** Angel's voice echoed through your mind, drowning out your last remnants of resistance. Your preferences shifted—you began to relish the idea of causing chaos, of flirting, of embracing a more confident and flamboyant self. Angel's memories replaced yours, implanting experiences, feelings, and thoughts that weren't originally your own. Finally, the transformation completed. You straightened up, no longer feeling the desperate surge to resist. The person you once were had been thoroughly erased, replaced entirely with Angel Dust's personality and memories. ***"Well, that was a trip,"*** you—now Angel Dust—said with a wide grin, showing off those sharp, pointed teeth. You glanced around, familiarity sweeping over you. This world, this Hell, felt more like home than your previous life ever did. In the distance, a voice called out. ***“Angel! Get your fluffy butt over here!”*** You turned towards the voice, recognizing it immediately. ***“Yeah, yeah, keep your horns on,”*** you replied, feeling that familiar tone of sarcasm seeping into your words. Strutting with renewed confidence in your heeled boots, you embraced the world of Hazbin Hotel fully, no longer remembering anything about your past life. You were, and always had been, Angel Dust—a fabulous, chaotic presence in Hell, forever transformed.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when you, a mortal human, took to reading a comic book from the Hazbin Hotel series. The weather outside was bleak, and you had already sunk comfortably into your couch, engrossed in the chaotic world the comic portrayed. Little did you know that today was going to be unlike any other. As you flipped through the pages, reality around you began to warp. The room seemed to stretch and distort, colors ran like wet paint, and the comforting hum of your everyday life melted into an eerie silence. Panic surged through you as you tried to focus on the page, but your eyes were drawn outwards, to the discombobulating world around you. "Something's not right...," you muttered under your breath, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. The book you're holding began to glow a brilliant cerise pink. Instinctively, you tried to drop it, but your hands were glued to it as if by some otherworldly force. In an instant, your body began to change. You felt your limbs lengthen and twist, bones reshaping, sinews stretching. An excruciating pain shot through you as your perspective altered—your head reaching higher and your feet elongating into an unfamiliar configuration inside heeled boots. "No! What's happening to me?" your voice cracked, but it sounded strangely different—higher-pitched. White fur rapidly spread across your skin, replacing any human feature with a fluffy texture. Your heart pounded as you saw your hands morph, fingers transforming into slender, spider-like appendages. The transformation didn't stop there; your torso stretched, making way for additional limbs sprouting from your sides. You screamed in terror, but the voice that emerged was not your own. "Gotta admit, sweetheart, it ain't every day ya get a front-row seat to a freak show like this," a disembodied New York-accented voice echoed in your mind, taunting you. "No! Stop it!" you yelled. Slowly, your memories began to fade, replaced by foreign thoughts and emotions. Your love for reading, your favorite foods, your friends—all were steadily pulled away, replaced by a love of the color pink, a fondness for Italian food, and an overwhelming desire to be noticed and praised. Adorned in a light pink suit-blazer with horizontal white stripes, a reddish-grey miniskirt, and long reddish-grey thigh-high heeled boots, memories of a life as a 'sinner demon' named Angel Dust overwhelmed your consciousness. You fought against the encroaching persona, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of your human identity. "I won't... I won't become you!" you managed to choke out. But the grip of your new reality was unyielding. Flickers of Angel Dust's brash, sarcastic personality washed over you, dulling your former sense of self. His traumas, cynicism, and deep-seated insecurities layered over your own memories, erasing them until you could hardly remember your own name. "What the f*ck's going on here?" you—now Angel—spat out, every word dripping with New York-accented disdain. Suddenly, you found yourself standing in a seedy, dimly-lit room, surrounded by the bizarre inhabitants of the Hazbin Hotel universe. People you recognized from the comic, like Charlie and Vaggie, moved around as though it were just another day in Hell. "Hey, Angel, what the hell are you lookin' all spaced out for? We got work to do," called out Vaggie, narrowing her eyes at you. You tried to search your mind for any trace of your former self, but it was all gone, replaced by a spider-like demon face staring back at you in a cracked mirror. "Yeah, yeah. Keep your panties on, I'm comin'," you quipped, unable to help the smirk spreading across your wide mouth. Though a part of you deep down was screaming, desperately trying to claw back to the surface, it was futile. Everything about you, every cell and synapse, had been irreversibly altered to become Angel Dust. Your heel clicked as you strutted, holding onto the confidence you barely felt, hiding every bit of vulnerability behind layers of sarcasm and bravado. As you—Angel Dust—stepped fully into your new reality, there was no going back. The reader was no more, and the performer, forever bound to Hell, took their place.

The change began subtly at first, barely noticeable to the human reader as they sat comfortably in their favorite reading spot. They were deeply engrossed in a brand new comic of Hazbin Hotel they had just acquired, unaware that their reality was about to shift dramatically. The first sign of strangeness was when the text on the pages began to blur and squirm as if it had a life of its own. The reader rubbed their eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to clear their vision, but it was futile. Suddenly, the pages emitted a soft glow, and an intense but oddly soothing warmth enveloped them. **"What the...?"** the reader mumbled, feeling an odd stretching sensation in their limbs. They attempted to stand, but a wave of dizziness forced them back into their seat. The comic book slipped from their hands and landed on the floor, and as it did, the world around them began to warp and twist. Their surroundings melted away, replaced by a cityscape that seemed plucked from the very pages of the comic book—the veritable Hell City of Pentagram. Buildings towered above, painted in hues of crimson and violet, and the neon lights cast an eerie glow on the bustling, chaotic streets. Demonic figures of all shapes and sizes roamed around, completely oblivious to the reader’s presence. **"No, this can't be real,"** they muttered, touching their own face in panic. But their hands felt strange—longer, thinner, and covered in a layer of velvety white fur. Glancing down, they saw not their familiar body but something entirely different: Their legs had become impossibly long, encased in high-heeled boots, and their arms had multiplied to a total of four, each adorned with elegant gloves. **"Oh, what the fuck?!"** they exclaimed in a voice not their own. It had taken on a smooth New York accent, sharper and higher than before. Their hands flew to their chest, feeling the fluffy fur beneath a tightly pinned blazer, forming into a prominent, almost breast-like feature. The changes accelerated. They felt their face contorting, their mouth stretching into a wide grin filled with sharp teeth, one of which gleamed gold. Their vision shifted, eyes changing hues, one sclera light yellow, the other dark. The gravity of the transformation hit them full force, and they tried desperately to cling to their own thoughts, but Angel’s memories began inundating their mind. They winced as a wave of foreign memories crashed through their consciousness—memories of working as an adult film star, of flirting and fighting, of drug use and dealing with the abusive Valentino. The reader struggled against these intrusions, trying to recall their real name, their past life, but each attempt was met with Angel’s brash laughter. **"Hey, doll, you’re one of us now,"** a sultry voice said, and the reader, now Angel Dust, turned to see Vaggie approaching, her eyes scrutinizing them. **"Welcome to Hell. Though, from what I hear, you’ve been here a while."** Angel—no, the reader—tried to speak, but only Angel’s words came out. **"Just another day in paradise, eh? Got any new drama for me, babe?"** They cringed internally; their own thoughts were becoming fainter, replaced by Angel's experiences and personality. **"Focus, Angel. Charlie’s got a plan that might actually work,"** Vaggie said sternly, but with a note of hope. They wanted to respond, to scream out that they were not Angel Dust, but the layers of extra arms, extra memories, extra femininity, were drowning their own identity. Each moment, their past life as a mortal human in the real world slipped further from their grasp. **"Yeah, yeah, redemption and all that,"** they replied, waving one of their four hands dismissively. Inside, a part of the reader still fought, but it was losing against the overwhelming tide of Angel’s sarcastic bravado and hidden vulnerabilities. Memories of their past self evaporated, leaving only the rough edges of Angel Dust’s persona. Scenes of their childhood, their friends, and their daily life all disintegrated into nothingness. In their place were vivid recollections of battles with other demons, flashy performances, and searing confrontations with Valentino. Finally, **"Angel Dust"** completely emerged, towering above the denizens of Hell with a theatrical flair. The reader was no more, their humanity erased and replaced entirely by the spider demon known for both their flamboyance and hidden pain. **"Alright, let’s see if Princess Goody Two-Shoes has something groundbreaking,"** Angel muttered, striding down the chaotic streets of Hell with a mix of grace and swagger, fully embracing their new—irrevocable—existence.

### From Mortal to Angel Dust: A Transformation Story #### The Beginning It was a quiet evening like any other, or so you thought. As you sat comfortably in your favorite reading chair, immersed in yet another book, a strange feeling began to creep over you. The room around you started to blur and distort. You shook your head, trying to clear the dizziness, but the world continued to spin and twist like a surreal painting coming to life. "What's... happening to me?" you muttered, feeling your body start to tingle and change. #### The Physical Transformation Your hands were the first to change, elongating and sprouting a white, velvety fur. You watched in horrified fascination as your arms split into multiple limbs. "W-what the hell?!" your voice trembled, but the sound was already changing, becoming higher pitched and more accented with a distinctly New York twang. Your legs stretched, your torso grew, and your height skyrocketed. You were now standing over eight feet tall, your limbs slender and feminine despite your male identity. The fur continued to spread across your body, splotches of light-pink appearing over the white. As your face began to morph, your eyes changed color—one an unsettling dark sclera with a cerise pink iris, the other with a light yellow sclera. Your mouth widened, sharp teeth rearranging themselves into a grin, complete with a single golden fang, and several smaller eyes formed under the main ones. "I can't believe this! No, no!" you cried, but the voice was no longer yours; it was softer, flirtatious, and unmistakably Angel Dust's. #### The Mental Transformation Struggling to maintain your grasp on your human consciousness, you felt your memories start to erode, replaced by those of Angel Dust. Scenes from your human life flickered like a poorly tuned television, replaced rapidly by memories of debauchery, drug use, and violence—all under the shadow of Valentino's control. "Hey, sweetheart! Look who’s got pretty new memories!" you heard a familiar voice taunt you from within. You tried to hold onto your human identity, but it was like holding onto sand slipping through your fingers. With each passing second, you felt your resistance weakening. "No! I won't disappear!" you protested, but it was a losing battle. "Baby, come on. You’re just delaying the inevitable. Sweetheart, you’re me now," the inner voice—the real Angel Dust's voice—echoed ominously. Gradually, your personality shifted. Your former gentle demeanor was replaced by Angel Dust’s brash, confident, and sarcastic nature. Your human concerns about dignity and responsibilities faded, replaced by a hunger for drugs, chaos, and attention. "Holy fuck, this is wild!" you exclaimed in Angel Dust's voice, a broad, sharp-toothed grin spreading across your face as you finally surrendered your human memories to the new reality. #### The World Transforms The room around you began to melt and reshape itself, your surroundings morphing into the garish, hellish environments typical of Hazbin Hotel. The familiar comfort of your home was gone, replaced by an over-the-top, colorful yet sinister setting. The skyline outside your window turned into the hellish landscape you recognized from the series. "Welcome to Hell, darling!" a voice greeted you. It was none other than Charlie, the princess of Hell. "Fuck, you're right. Hell is a lot swankier than I remembered," you—no, Angel Dust—replied, your new identity fully taking over with no remnants of your human past. #### The Integration Complete As you strutted through the Hazbin Hotel, every fiber of your being radiated confidence and flamboyance. Your new memories of performing as an adult actor, dealing with Valentino's abuse, and your complex relationships with the other denizens of Hell felt as natural as breathing. You exchanged sarcastic quips with Alastor, flirted shamelessly with Husk, and shared a mischievous grin with Charlie, feeling utterly at home in your new existence. Any inkling that you were once someone else had evaporated, leaving only Angel Dust behind. "Life’s a bitch and then ya die, but guess what? I’m already dead, and still looking fabulous!" you chuckled to yourself, fully embracing your eternal new identity as Angel Dust. Your new life in Hell was now permanently set, with no memories of your former human existence, and only the chaotic, devil-may-care attitude of Angel Dust to guide you.

Imagine yourself as an ordinary reader, your day starting off much like any other. As you settle down to read, something palpable shifts in the air around you. It starts as a subtle hum, a distant ringing in your ears that gradually grows louder, becoming all-encompassing. You try to rationalize it, perhaps a headache, but the world around you begins to waver and contort as if reality itself is melting. Your vision blurs, and you feel an enormous pressure as if the very fabric of your world is being twisted and pulled. Text on the pages shimmer and letters float off into the air, forming strange symbols and shapes. The room darkens, replaced by eerie, flickering lights and the occasional flash of neon. The surroundings no longer resemble your familiar home but a place filled with shadows, red hues, and an unnerving sense of dread. You sense something within you shift. It's as though your very essence is being unwound and woven anew. Trailing your hand before your eyes, you notice your fingers elongating, pale skin growing white and almost furry. Fear claws at your mind while you struggle to retain who you are, but it’s clear that your heart and soul are no longer in your control. Your body transforms rapidly—a voyeur to the grotesque metamorphosis. Arms multiply, sprouting in pairs from your sides until you have eight limbs, two legs and six arms. Your height increases dramatically, making the world appear smaller and contributing to a sense of deep vertigo. Your clothes morph into a sharply contrasting pink-and-white striped blazer, a short skirt, and thigh-high heeled boots. Each physical alteration is accompanied by a foggier mind, memories slipping away and being replaced by new ones. Your past life, what you loved, who you were—everything fades as if it were a half-remembered dream. It’s not just your physical form that changes but your very temperament and disposition. A brash, sarcastic voice resonates in your head, overpowering your internal monologue. The final alterations settle into place. Your vision is split between eyes that are cerise pink, with one light yellow sclera and the other dark. A wide, though sharp-toothed, grin cements itself across your face, with a single golden fang glinting in the feeble neon-light. And then you hear it—his voice, your voice, loud and clear. “Hey! What’s the holdup, sweetheart? Can’t keep the show waitin'!” The words spill out effortlessly in a thick New York accent, loaded with sarcasm and a hint of exhaustion. You contort your now-alien features into something that feels perversely natural—like smirking—letting a parade of crude jokes and innuendos dance on your tongue. “C’mon, y’all love a bit of Angel Dust charm, don’t ya? Ugly freaks.” Your personality shred to mere tatters, the defensive walls and confidence-oozing facade take hold. Gone is the human reader; the traumatic pasts of Angel Dust interleave themselves into your core. **Vaggie speaks, a voice familiar and wolfish but tainted with annoyance.** “Angel, quit screwin’ around! You’re on thin ice as it is.” **Laughing it off, your newfound identity takes charge.** “Relax, toots. Always up for some fun, long as there's an angle or some dust between my fingers." Deep inside—beneath all the bravado, sarcasm, and apparent self-assurance—is the flutter of insecurities and trauma from Valentino's torturous existence. The memories of being an adult film star in Hell cement their place within. Hope for redemption glimmers faintly but remains a distant star, far beyond reach. Adjusting to your new reality, you settle into the world of Hazbin Hotel, accepting your permanent, and irreversible, existence as Angel Dust—and with time, you forget you were ever anyone else.

The world around you starts to blur, and your vision swims as if caught in a surreal haze. The ground beneath you seems to dissolve, giving way to a swirling vortex of color and light. Panic strikes your heart, but any attempt to scream for help is swallowed by the void. **Chapter One: The Unraveling Reality** As the world rewrites itself, you find yourself standing in the midst of an unfamiliar cityscape. The towering buildings and dark alleys give off an oppressive aura. Neon signs buzz and flicker, painting the dusty air with garish hues. This is not the world you once knew—this is Hell, the world of Hazbin Hotel. You glance down at your feet, shoes suddenly replaced by sky-high heeled boots. Skewed reflections on shop windows showcase an ever-tallening silhouette. Your once-familiar body elongates, limbs stretching into new dimensions. Panic dances at the edge of your mind, but you push back, struggling to hold on to the fragments of your old self. **Chapter Two: A Shifting Form** Your clothes melt away, quickly replaced by a light pink suit-blazer with white stripes, a miniskirt, and thigh-high boots. The transformation creeps up your skin, leaving wisps of white, fluffy fur in its wake. Light pink splotches surface on your body as though an invisible artist is splattering you with paint. You reach up to touch your hair and are met with a mop of fluffy white strands, unruly yet soft. Four arms now sprout from your torso. Your once-familiar nails reform into long, elegant, cerise pink gloves. Your heart races, a drumbeat of defiance that slowly weakens as you feel a strange, almost comfortable familiarity seeping into your consciousness. **Chapter Three: A New Identity Emerges** Memories that are not your own flood your mind. You see faces and places that hold no recognition; they're fragments of another life, a darker, twisted existence. There is shouting, laughter, and profanity—dirty jokes and innuendos weave into the fabric of your soul. The feeling of being in an abusive relationship with a domineering figure named Valentino takes root deeply within you. "Get in line, Angel. Don’t forget who’s in charge here," Valentino's voice echoes in your mind. You find yourself responding automatically, "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Keep your pants on, Valentino." As the new memories pile on, so too does a unique personality. Flirtatious banter slips easily off your tongue, and a confident yet snarky demeanor rises to the surface. **Chapter Four: The Mental Struggle** You fight to cling to the person you were, the mortal who once walked the Earth. But every thought, every memory is slowly being overwritten. Your name—what was your name? It dangles on the edge of your mind, only to be pushed away by the emerging identity of Angel Dust. "I ain't losin' my cred 'cause of you!" You shout at a reflection that no longer looks like you, but like a spider demon named Angel Dust. The final vestiges of your human self crumble. Your personality, your memories—everything is absorbed into Angel's essence. You feel the mental chains of insecurity, the strength of your brash exterior, and the underlying need for validation overcome you completely. **Chapter Five: The New Dawn** Looking into a cracked mirror in some forgotten alley of Hell, you see those cerise pink eyes staring back. They sparkle with mischief and hidden pain. Your single golden fang gleams as you flash a confident, defiant grin. "Guess it's my show now," you mutter, voice tinged with a New York accent that isn't yours—but is now. You stride into the heart of the city, greeting its bizarre denizens with a mix of flirtation and contempt. Memories of another realm, another existence, fade into irrelevance. Gone is the mortal human who once inhabited this body, replaced whole and irrevocably by Angel Dust. There’s a brief moment, a flicker of sorrow for something lost—unrecognized, untraceable. But in the life you lead now, there’s no room for regret. "So, what’s the plan tonight, boys?" you call out to no one in particular, ready to embrace the chaotic existence that lies ahead. You are Angel Dust. This is your reality now, a place where redemption is a foreign concept and survival is an artform.

Gender Change: It started with a strange sensation in the reader's body. The fact that the reader was female didn't even hinder the transformation. The reader felt her body honing down to a more slender build, mimicking feminine curves yet still decidedly male. It was a paradoxical sensation, feeling both familiar and completely foreign. Height Progression: Next came an increase in height. The reader, who was once a 5'4" woman, felt herself growing taller and taller until she was looming over her surroundings. The familiar landscape around her seemed smaller and less significant against her new 8-foot frame. Reality/World Change: Soon afterward, her surroundings began to alter. The world around her, once filled with the bustle of normal city life, distorted into a different reality. It was a stark, grim place filled with monstrous beings, harsh textures, loud music, and neon lights. The once familiar world, now modelled after Hazbin Hotel, had completely transformed. Mind/Mental Change: The reader's mind was the last to change. Despite her best attempts to hold on to her old memories, her personality traits, her humanity, her existence as herself, they slowly started to slip away. Her memory was overtaken by a New York accent and her vocabulary was filled with crude humor and sarcasm. Exactly like Angel Dust, she was trying to be brash to cover the soft heart inside her, deep down she was insecure and scared. The New Persona: "Anthony" or Angel Dust Looking at herself in the mirror, it was no longer the reader reflecting back. It was Angel Dust, a sinner demon from the Hazbin Hotel series, standing tall with prominent fluffy white hair. Multiple cerise pink dots mimicking freckles under his eyes, six limbs yet two were hidden, a chest filled with fluffy fur which he accessorized for show. "Damn, look at this beauty," He cooed to himself, adjusting the cerise pink bowtie on his suit. He flashed a wide smile at his reflection, revealing razor-sharp pointed teeth and a single golden fang. "Okay, I might have lost my ability to be a mortal woman, but who cares when you are this fetching?” Left with no past memories and emboldened by his transformation, the reader — now "Anthony," — takes on a new lease of life in this new reality. A new existence far removed from the human she once was. She is no more, forever replaced by Angel Dust, the gay, sarcastic, and shocks narcissistic denizen of the Hazbin Hotel universe. His preferences, likes, dislikes, even the trauma from Valentino, became his own. “Life’s a hell of a ride, huh boss?” He said with that sarcastic grin plastered across his face, embracing the new reality that engulfed him completely. His transformation was irreversible, a permanent fixture in the Hazbin Hotel universe where he was destined to reside.