The reader wakes up in Hazbin Hotel, completely unaware of what happened. He/she sees the other guests as strange, cartoonish figures and cannot understand a single word they say. He/she has no memo

Your usual surroundings fade away, replaced by an alien reality, a kaleidoscope of bizarre sights and sounds. The smell of sulfur and apples.clings to the air. Reality shifts like a mirage, and you are suddenly in the land known as Hazbin Hotel, a realm you've watched many times through your screen, yet never imagined you'd see in person. As your mind tries to grasp the reality of it, your physical form seems to take on a life of its own. The world spins as you lose your balance, your legs seemingly changing underneath you. At first, you wildly flail your arms trying to keep balance, only to feel your clothing morphing around you. You glance down and gasp, a pair of knee-high heeled boots replace your old footwear as your clothes become a white high collar suit, a black bowtie, and a red undershirt with white stripes. It takes a moment to notice the velvet smoothness of your skin, now a startling, pure white, disrupted only by bold black lips and vibrant, red cheeks. You reach out, fingers feeling strange, unfamiliar, as you weave them through blonde locks. Turning your hands around, you find a golden ring on your left pinkie. It sparkles, hinting of an irresistible allure and power. Squinting, you notice a wide-brimmed white top hat with a coiling golden snake embellishing a ruby red apple above your head. The reflection staring back in its golden surface isn't you, or at least not the 'you' you know. As you struggle to comprehend what has happened, a wave of memories washes over you. Screams of laughter, melodies of demonic polka music, jokes spat at every turn - all mingle with your fading thoughts, pushing out your identity to replace it with someone else's. A sardonic warmth fills your chest as memories of a wife named Lilith replace your own relationships. The love there is deep, passionate, and almost branded into your soul. Soon, your old reality fades, replaced by an exuberant, lunatic charisma. The present shifts, making you aware of an audience – demons who eye you in startled fascination or fear. A sudden urge to entertain fills you, sparking a quip on your lips so foreign yet so incredibly familiar. The shift in demeanor forges the last chain in your transformation, the last vestiges of your previous self fading away. You can feel your own memories becoming foreign, like vague dreams, replaced entirely by the thoughts and recollections of the one you've become. Each joke, each flash of wit, each echo of music strengthens your new identity. A sense of exacting satisfaction replaces the initial shock. You are no longer the person you once were, but Lucifer Morningstar, a lord among demons and playboy among patrons. The idea should terrify you, but it does not. Not anymore. Because you don't just look like Lucifer Morningstar, you are him now. The transformation is complete and irreversible. You're this world's identical Lucifer, a doppelganger of the entity that was once a mere character in a TV show you watched. Smirking, you hiss out a phrase, a clear declaration of your new persona, "Let's give 'em hell, shall we?" The echoes of your true self once mockingly laughed at Lucifer Morningstar, but now there's only the wicked gleam of Lucifer's bright yellow eyes staring back out to the world, ready to greet any who dare stand in his path.