"Who are you?" "I am the king of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar." "Charlie Morningstar?" "Yes. I am her father."

You find yourself standing in a bar, a cacophony of laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses resonating in your ears. Peculiarly, you can't recall how you came to be here, or even what occurred before you found yourself in this peculiar place. Taking a look around, there's nothing familiar about the surroundings - ghoulish figures, fiendish grins, an ambiance of decadence and sin. Suddenly, a man approaches you. He's white as a sheet but strikingly handsome, wearing an elaborate white suit. His eyes are brightly glowing, crimson, and slitted contrastingly against his yellow irises. His black lips spread into an eerie grin, exposing a set of perfectly sharp teeth. "Welcome to my abode," he says with a voice as smooth as velvet, the lilt of amusement hidden within his tone. He nips at a golden apple affixed on a black cane. "To be frank, I brought you here. Found you rather... interesting." "No... no, this isn't real," you stammer, heart pounding in your chest. Disbelief and fear start to wrap around your mind. He leans in, breath chilling against your skin, "Oh, it is. And something exciting will happen to you." Before you can resist, a wave of energy hits you. It feels like millions of tiny needles prickling under your skin. You watch, horrified, as your skin bleaches to a deathly white. Your hair color shifts to a golden blonde. You feel your body changing, your chest flattening if you are a woman, and your stature becoming shorter until you match his height. Your heart pounds as you unwillingly look into a mirror. A reflection that isn't yours stares back. It's the man. His face is on your body. His... No, your lips twist into an unnatural grin; you're replicating his every feature. Panic seizes you. This isn't right. Fight it! You repeat it like a mantra, but it's like trying to swim against a tide. You're only growing more exhausted, more resigned to the transformation. Suddenly, it hits you, the onslaught of unfamiliar memories. They course through your consciousness - a grand fall from grace, endless eons reigning in Hell, an enduring bond with a woman named Lilith. Somewhere in the chaos, you hear 'your' voice, "Isn't it splendid, being me?" The words are laced with a thrill you never felt before. You snap, "I'm not you!" The stranger, or rather, you chuckle. It's getting harder, your identities blurring. "I'm afraid you're wrong. You're me now, in every aspect," your mouth replies smugly. Realization hits you that it’s true. Even the mind, once yours and private, is now echoing his thoughts, his mannerisms. Even though you fight, it's a losing battle. Your memories, once so vivid, are sanded down, replaced with Lucifer's. The panic subsides, replaced with a realization. You're him, the King of Hell, a witty and charismatic demon who cherishes puns, jokes, and a lovely wife named Lilith. By the time you look back into the mirror, there's no hint of the person you were before. You're Lucifer Morningstar now, in his undead flesh. And you can't remember ever being anything else. Your lips curl into a grin; you turn around, ready to resume the regal mischief of Hell's king.