From Boy to Morningstar: A Journey of Transformation in the Hazbin Hotel Realm

The initial feeling is hazy, curious; a tug at your senses that piques at your nine-year-old mind like an unfamiliar melody. The first inkling of transformation begins when your world begins rippling – reality spiraling out like a kaleidoscope of gritty color. Buildings crystallize into towering skyscrapers and faded structures, smoky against the tangerine and mustard skyline of Hell. This world spins into existence as if it had always been there, erased parts of your old world being rapidly overwritten by the Hellish reality of the Hazbin Hotel universe. Next, your body responds. Standing next to a cookie jar on the kitchen counter, you suddenly find it lower than before, then even more so – from the perspective of a nine-year-old boy, the height progression is dizzying. From four feet, to five, then six – you shoot upwards until you land on a lean, adult build. It's as if a time-lapse of growing up hits you all at once; every bone lengthens, muscles strengthen, body matures, all in a manner of seconds. A sharp contrast to the slow, patient crawl of years you had logically expected up until now. You reach out to your mom, alarmed, but find that the words that tumble from your tongue sound foreign, filled with devilish charm, "Dear Mother, fear not, it's just a touch of age progression." Then, your clothes shift and stretch, transmuting into white fabric that clings to your body – a high collar suit, white as bone, a black bow tie snaking around your neck. A red undershirt with white stripes appears beneath the jacket. The sensation of knee-high heeled boots encasing your feet is followed by black gloved hands that examine themselves with unbridled curiosity. A wide-brimmed white top hat materializes atop your head, a golden snake and red apple over golden spikes embellishing it. Your looks follow, rapidly morphing like a clay model under a sculptor's hands. Skin bleaches into an unnatural white, your hair lightening into a startling blonde. Miracely, a mirror appears before you, and you notice the thick black eyebrows, black lips pulled into a grin revealing rows of sharp teeth. Your eyes, once full of childlike wonder, now glint with infernal amusement – yellow with slitted red pupils. Experiencing such monumental changes, your mind attempts to reject this alien transformation. As memories of Lucifer flood the boy you once were, you attempt one last plea, your mind reaching out to your parents. But another voice, the voice of Lucifer, smothered your silent cries, "Aww, who needs help finding their mommy, little boy?" Instantaneously, the all-encompassing personality and memories of the king of Hell pieces together, feelings and thoughts storming within the walls of your mind, erasing the remnants of the child you once were; the echoes of a mundane human life dissolving into the gloom. Your demeanor changes, the dorky charm, the wittiness, the off-beat demeanor taking over; your interests and tastes skew towards the eccentric and you find yourself humming a polka tune. Isolated thoughts of Lilith fray at the edges of your memory. A smile stretches across your face as images of Lilith fill your mind; you can remember the contours of her face, the sound of her laugh, the way the dim light would hit her eyes just right. "Ah, my dear, Lilith," you sigh, feeling a pinch of the love Lucifer holds for her pull at your freshly transmuted heart. In the end, what remains is not the tentative nine-year-old boy, but Lucifer Morningstar in all his regal and menacing charm, the king of Hell, complete in his self-indulgent and zany glory. As for the child you were? The echoes of him are as lost and forgotten as the hue of blue on a canvas bathed in red and gold – only Lucifer remains.