A Voyage into Hell's Melody: When a Young Reader Becomes Lucifer Morningstar

You were a fairly normal seven-year-old boy. Playing with action figures, watching cartoons and generally just being a kid was your life, and you were very content with it. However, it was on one grueling afternoon when that stability was shattered irreversibly. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you noted your freckled cheeks and light brown hair which was so carefully combed by your mom earlier in the day. As you prepared yourself for a bath, your brown eyes stared back at you, filled with anticipation and a strange foreboding sensation. The reflection was starting to contort, shimmer like it was being ripped apart and pasted back together. Suddenly, it was as if your blood froze in your veins. A wracking pain seized your small frame, forcing a scream from your lips, one that you wish you could forget. You clutched the sink counter with trembling hands. The pint-sized reflection in the mirror started to blur and morph into an obscured silhouette. You felt your body pulsating, expanding. It was unreal and terrifyingly exciting at the same time. As the little boy in the mirror disappeared, a taller and more sophisticated gentleman appeared. Your once chubby limbs were stretching, ripping the air at an astonishing speed. Thick black gloves had started to crawl up your hands, your form encased in a high-collared white suit, while a black bowtie hung around your neck elegantly. In these moments, panic was bubbling to the surface, grasping at your throat like cold iron chains. Reality whipped around you as if caught in a fierce storm. You tried to call for your parents, for help, for anything to control the sudden nightmare you were trapped in. But only hoarse gasps escaped your lips, your voice slipped away, replaced by a new charismatic, yet menacing tune. Your surroundings started to ripple like a reflection on water. The bathroom tiles were devoured by crimson flames, replaced by an infernal gothic architecture. Your once cozy home was being overwritten by the world you only knew from Hazbin Hotel. The bath mat was replaced by discolored cobblestones, your bath toys with golden goblets and your bubble bath with hellfire-infused elixirs. Something far worse was insidiously seeping into your consciousness. Foreshadowing memories, emotions and knowledge not of your own flooded your mind. You tried to hold onto your cherished memories of frolicking in the park with your friends and the taste of your mom's homemade chocolate cookies, but they were being swallowed up in a sea of hellfire. The grinning figure in the mirror was not you anymore, that seven-year-old boy was obliterated. Fear and confusion were taken over by suave dignity and a terrifying sense of control. In the jagged remnants of lucidity, came sharp realisation - you were not you anymore. "Who am I?" You mumbled, your voice echoing in the echoey chamber. "Lucifer Morningstar," the figure replied through the glass surface, a flash of dangerous brilliance lighting up his yellow slitted eyes. A hauntingly rapturous, joyful laugh ripped from the depth of your - no, Lucifer’s - throat. Your world, your reality, your life was forever irrevocably changed, and you were to dance to the whimsical tunes of Lucifer Morningstar, for an eternity and beyond. In the midst of laughter and terrors, a single forgotten thought of the boy fluttered - clutching mom's hand while crossing the street. But it was whisked away into oblivion, overridden by the memory of Lucifer smiling over the golden apples, his mind teeming with new plots to liven up Hell. Because you were no longer a child but Lucifer Morningstar - the charismatic King of Hell, decked in a suave suit and wide-brimmed hat, ready to take over the Underworld, and there was no turning back.