Becoming the Lord of Hell: A Transformation Tale of a Young Boy into Lucifer Morningstar

Fumbling with his toys, the seven-year-old boy found himself growing inexplicably bored with his human toys on the living room floor. Little did he know, his life was about to change dramatically, forever. Suddenly, his body started shaking. He dropped his toys, taken aback. His tiny boyish hands began to elongate, sprouting to adult proportions, his fingertips hardened and nails needle-sharp. A scream of fear piled in his throat, but all that emerged was a chuckle, deep and melodious. His height shot upward, his clothes strained against his ripening body. Looking at his reflection in the hallway mirror, his freckled face was transforming. His skin was turning as white as snow; his mild brown eyes now radiated a menacing yellow glow, with red reptilian slit pupils. The innocence of his face disappeared as thickened black eyebrows and rugged features replaced it. Lips, painted in black contrasted sharply against his pale skin. A mouthful of sharp teeth grinned back at him with a charisma that was frighteningly non-human. His ash-brown hair became a shiny blonde, styled with an uncanny finesse. He barely recognized himself, but the reflection felt somewhat...right. Perplexed, the boy tried to call out to his parents, but all that emerged was: "Oh, what a polka-doodle-do!" The words tumbled out of his mouth like he had always spoken them. Suddenly, the room around him started to warp, it was not his dear earthly setup anymore. The once simple, nondescript decor and colors peeled away, revealing a more luxurious and sinister one. He felt like he was no longer in his home, but now a domain fit for the king of Hell. Strangely, with every passing second, he felt more at ease here. A high-collared white suit replaced his tiny red sweatshirt and jeans. His hands were engulfed in black gloves, a black bow tie materialized around his neck, and a red-striped undershirt popped into existence. He wore knee-high heeled boots, tighter than any shoe he had ever worn, yet they felt so comfortable. A wide-brimmed, white top hat adorned his head, accentuated with a quaint insignia of a golden snake and red apple. His left pinky finger adorned a golden ring. A matching white cane, topped with an apple, appeared in his hand. The changes were immediate and completely irreversible. The boy's sense of mortality was replaced with a feeling of ageless existence, a foreboding eternity sprawled in front of him. His parents’ faces soon became obscured in his memory; their voices, just silent echoes. All he remembered were distant memories of Hell, of being the king, of being Lucifer. He tried to fight it, clinging to the scraps of his past, but it was futile. His mind was now solely occupied by Lucifer's personality and memories. There was no room left for the little boy. He disappeared in the fog of thought as Lucifer took permanent residence. In the midst of it all emerged the sweet memory of Lilith, his beloved queen, the woman he loved fervently, painting a charming smile on his face. Turning around, he twirled his cane. After all, he was Lucifer Morningstar, a witty, charismatic showman, and the king of Hell. ‘Oh, what a glorious existence this would be!’ He thought, his new life just begun. His transformation, a metamorphosis from boy to adult devil himself, was now complete. Life as Lucifer, forever set in the depth of Hellfire and witty puns, had just begun. As the saying goes, when Hell gives you lemons...make polka music.