The Metamorphosis: A Journey from Innocence to Hellish Majesty

At first, the transformation feels like stepping into a warm bath, a bit uncomfortable, but there is something soothing about it despite the infancy of the feeling. However, the sense of change shifts dramatically and you can almost see your body react as everything begins to alter. Looking down at your small hands, you observe as they start to grow larger, fingers stretching, skin lightening to a stark, haunting white. You try calling out to your parents, hoping they can help somehow, yet all you manage is a gruff shout that doesn't sound like your voice at all. "Anyone up for an applesauce-spritzer?" you hear a voice rumbling within your throat. It is not you; it’s Lucifer speaking, his words seeming to actively overwrite your mind. Each attempt at screaming for your mother renders a punchline or pun in his jovial voice, exacerbating the fear and confusion that begins to take hold. As your torso expands, morphing into a robust adult form, a white suit materializes, covering your formerly juvenile body. The sleek jacket tightens around your broadening shoulders, a black bowtie manifesting around your neck, giving an air of menacing elegance. You want to rip these new garments off, to return to the t-shirt and shorts of your youth, but your body refuses to heed your commands. Your legs stretch and thick black trousers elongate with them, forming a sophisticated and eccentric semblance that not just a few moments ago was the form of a seven-year-old boy. "Ah, I've always loved a good stretch!" - This is not your voice. This is not your thought. It’s Lucifer's, his personality seeping into your cells like a powerful venom, rewriting your reality, overwriting your humanity. The sense of height increases, the world scaling down around you as you ascend to an unfamiliar altitude. Your shoes morph into high-heeled boots, changing the manner of your accustomed, childlike walk to a dignified stride. In a mirror, you watch, helplessly, as a wide-brimmed white hat appears on your head, adorned with a golden snake coiling around a red apple. Futile attempts to remember your name are impeded by a deluge of memories that are not your own. Images of a place filled with sensational sin, a place far from your cozy bedroom. You want to go back, back to your parents, your toys, your warm bed, but it’s all being replaced. Your blonde hair curls down onto your shoulders, thick black eyebrows spawning above yellow snake-like eyes, and black lips stretch out into a predatory smile full of sharp teeth. Lucifer's reflection substitutes your own. You can’t recollect your past, once familiar but now feels like a distantly lived fable. Every figment of your mortal life is erased. "Kid, what's your name?" your father --no not your father, but Lilith, your wife, calls out. You open your mouth, expecting to speak your name. Instead, the corners of your lips twitch upwards into a playful smirk. "Darling," you command in a charmingly confident voice, "you'll find no one here by that name. For I am, and will forever be, Lucifer Morningstar." Despite how horrific and alien the whole ordeal had felt, you find yourself basking in the sinful delight of the moment, almost forgetting the boy's brief existence in the inexplicably vast span of the devil's lifetime. You are Lucifer Morningstar, and this is your realm. You acknowledge the figments of a life you never lived as they dissipate, consumed by the flames of your reality. You are the king of hell, and all that matters is here and now.