Welcome to Hell! Oh...
Diana Marie Damask woke up and was stretched across the steps of a large castle. Correction: It looked like a castle but nothing like she had ever seen. The world felt… weird. Diana glanced around and adjusted her black sweater, surveying her surroundings. Near the castle were several creators or ditches. She did not want to explore it by the look of them, with golden and black lines etching the sides.
Gazing back up at the castle, she tried to shake her disorientation. Her body ached, mainly her back, but she felt like that should have been the case for some reason. Where the Hell was she? That question kept coming as she climbed the steps. This place, she didn’t recognize it at all. She couldn’t even remember how she ended up somewhere so hot. It felt almost sticky, like a film but without the blazing of a desert. Dry but not without moisture.
“Hello?” She called out while climbing the staircase.
Where the Hell was she? Her footsteps were loud on the stone as she made her way inside. The castle seemed almost abandoned, with crooked paintings and dust on the walls. Nothing was light about this place—no one was servicing the hallways. Even the stairs seemed foreboding as they wound upward after the grand staircase bit into the room.
What was she doing before this? Things felt fuzzy and out of place. It was not really something she’d been exposed to previously. Well, she remembered a book signing and then water. Oh, that was right! She’s the author of a mythology series based on modern versions of Gods. However… that was neither here nor there as she felt the red hue of the world was awful on her eyes. What was she doing before she ended up in this weird place?
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
A bit of silence and her shoes on the stone echoed through the ample space.
“Lilith?”
Diana jumped at the voice and took a deep breath, pulling back her dark hair. At least someone was here to give her answers, so she climbed more stairs.
“Hello, my name is Diana. I’m not Lilith, but I think I need help,” Diana called out.
“Diana? I don’t know, Diana.”
She stopped on the spiral staircase to see a man, but not quite. He seemed different. He felt different. The man in question wore a pale suit and hat that reminded Diana of a showman. Even his features and expression supported this thought. Bright white clothing with red and gold hues made all this heavy darkness a bit more dramatic.
His eyes focused on Diana, and he waved his cane with an apple on it at her. “You look familiar. What do you want?”
“Uh, Sir… can you explain what’s going on? I woke up here. Or I believe I did. It all seems rather blurry,” Diana pursed her lips.
“Woke up here? Hm. What did you say your name was?” The man asked.
Diana smiled politely and offered her hand. “Diana Damask.”
The stranger glanced at her hand and then up at her face. He appeared almost confused. Had he not seen a handshake before? What an odd reaction to polite normalities.
“Damask… that’s an interesting name. I knew a Damask once, or maybe not. Damask, hm, uh-huh,” The man mused and tapped his cane to the floor. “A demon long ago. Or maybe it wasn’t. I’m not sure. A potion?”
He clearly was half out of his mind. Diana cleared her throat lightly. “I’m sorry, I missed your name, Sir.”
“You don’t…” He trailed off and then took Diana’s hand. “Lucifer Morningstar, The ruler of Hell.”
A weird gold light appeared when their hands met, and Lucifer’s eyebrows knitted. There was warmth, which fluttered in Diana’s chest, taking her breath. It was like a book rapidly flipping pages, and Diana felt almost a shivering snake coil from her hand up to her brain. It stopped at the thought of her looking at her parents and her years ago when she was little.
“What… was that? Who are you?” Diana frowned.
“You really don’t know, do you? Not at all? Uh, hmm,” Lucifer frowned and shifted on his feet. He appeared to be making a decision, and something bothered him about her lack of knowledge. “Did you not make it to orientation? It’s important you receive the information needed.”
Diana took a step back as she scowled. “I feel like someone drugged me and is trying to play a joke on the fantasy writer. Ha, ha. Funny Paige,” she said and glanced around, looking for cameras.
Lucifer held up his finger, and his lips stretched to a smile. “Damask! Oh, your father was a famous author. He asked me not long ago for a pen in the trade of his soul. I don’t usually do deals, but it seemed a small price to pay for someone as entertaining as him,” Lucifer nodded and flicked out his index finger. “He was quite the character. Enjoyed writing tragic love stories.”
“Pen? Mr. Morningstar, my father has been dead for five years,” Diana frowned and crossed her arms.
“Did you use the pen for your writing? I saw books in your name. You must have taken after him in some way. Did he give it to you before he died?” Lucifer glared at her as he tapped his hat with his cane.
He did, in fact, give it to her. She was in a rut as far as her writing was concerned after her second novel was mediocre. Her father told her it would work itself out if she wrote the summary with a pen. His weird mania hadn’t failed her, and she wrote four novels with that system.
“By your silence… I see what happened here,” Lucifer exhaled and snapped his fingers. “Your father passed his debt to you by giving you the pen. I knew I should have been more engaged in the fine print… but I really wanted to talk more with him when he died.”
“Wait— you’re telling me my father sent me to Hell by giving me a pen. He made a deal with you to procure inspiration because I used it… I took over his debt?” Diana growled as she crossed her arms.
“I know this sounds bad, but I was really into tragic stories then. James L. Damask was the perfect read after— well, that’s unimportant! The important part is that you took your father’s place,” Lucifer tutted and scratched his chin. “He must have inched his way into Heaven.”
“Well… he died saving a little girl in a car wreck. Apropos, considering his last novel was about a father dying in a car crash,” Diana exhaled.
Lucifer thinned his lips and scratched the side of his face. “Well, uh, this is awkward… So, how about this: I call someone who would happily help you get adjusted? It’s not… that bad,” he tried for an awkward smile.
“Adjusted? This is clearly a mistake. I lived a good life, and I’d like to think I was on the good side of the fence and not… well, here,” Diana glared as she thinned her lips.
“I— let’s, uh, take a walk,” Lucifer tried for a smile and gestured to the staircase.
Diana nodded and breathed. “Okay.”
“So, you enjoyed writing, singing, and music? Solitary? There’s nothing wrong with that,” Lucifer declared as they began traveling down the staircase. You’d be surprised at how few writers Hell has. Or at least… end up here. They never continue to write, vices and all.” He shook his head and tapped his hat.
“How… Did you know that about me?” Diana huffed.
“Well, there are perks of being the King of Hell, Diane. I need to know the people, right?” Lucifer smiled.
“Diana…” she grumbled.
Lucifer nodded and tilted his head. “I think I need to call someone; I’ll be right back. Wait here,” Lucifer said and waved toward a sitting room.
Diana grimaced as she entered the room and looked around. It was dusty and clearly abandoned from use. She went to the window and glanced out of the curtain. Oh… Hell. Quite literally. A pentagram hung over a city and was segregated as such…
She felt her knees weaken. How? Diana always believed she was a good person. She volunteered and saved baby birds… What the heck? There had to be a giant ass mistake. Maybe all the weird, strange… and oddness brought her here and not a pen… Diana’s eyes scanned the entirety of the city for who knows how long. Her heart clenched, and her stomach roiled. She was in Hell? That was it? That’s all she had left, which was an eternity in Hellfire?
“So… yeah, here she is. Deena, this is my daughter, Charlie,” Lucifer introduced her, again stating her name incorrectly.
Diana frowned as she turned around, and the tall woman before her looked similar to Lucifer. She gasped and waved before approaching. “Oh, you look so pretty! I love your appearance. It’s very mysterious, but you look kind. My name is Charlie, and well, welcome to Hell.”
Diana took a step back, nearing flush to the window. “I— I don’t believe I should be here.”
Charlie grimaced and held out her hand. “Well, here’s the thing, and it’s a bit complicated. My dad, Lucifer, looked it up, and because you inherited the pen, you inherited your father’s debt. So… even though you’re not, well, a ‘sinner,’ you still ended up here.”
Diana thinned her lips.
“But, hey! Maybe we can eventually fix that if you join me and my friends at the Hazbin Hotel. Maybe it would be good? I’m working on a project, and it’s pretty awesome. You know, trying to prove souls are redeemable. It might be great to have someone of your qualities and talent there!” Charlie declared and huffed with an uncomfortable smile afterward.
“Charlie, is it? You’re… the princess of Hell?” Diana shifted.
“Right, yeah, well, it’s a lot to take in. How about you join me? We can go through history and maybe get you a drink or whatever you do to relax…” Charlie wiggled her fingers.
Diana exhaled and nodded before taking Charlie’s hand. Charlie squealed with delight and waved at Lucifer. “Okay, see ya later, dad! I got it from here.”
Lucifer waved awkwardly and smiled. “You got this… my daughter,” he said, giving her a thumbs-up.
A socially awkward ruler? Hmm. Diana would have found that far more amusing if she hadn’t been dragged through Hell’s Fires. Charlie just waved and began tugging Diana along.
“Sins of the father, right?” Charlie laughed and shrugged as she led Diana toward the large entrance.
“I suppose that’s far more relevant than I’d like,” Diana exhaled.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you,” Charlie nodded.
Diana wasn’t confident about much. Even as Charlie rambled about the different aspects of Hell and the surrounding areas… She was stuck in Hell. What now?
Once she reached the hotel, Diana didn’t take long to hide in the room she was given. At that point, avoiding the other occupants was a must. She stared out the window at the absolute chaos and felt… disappointed. The quality of her person wouldn’t have mattered. Her father ruined her afterlife, clearly.
There was a soft knock at her door, and Diana glanced over to see Charlie poking her head inside. “Ah, Diana… I know you said you wanted to be alone, but I just wanted— well, I wanted to tell you that we have a library. My dad said you liked reading. Considering you’re an author… or were, well, we have tons of books!”
Diana felt like her voice was stuck in her throat, and she nodded.
“It’s… well, down the staircase to the left. If you get hungry, we can get you dinner…” Charlie murmured with concern in her expression.
Diana shook her head and turned back to the window.
“Okay… if you need anything, we’re here. When you’re ready…” Charlie said gently, and the door sounded again.
There wasn’t much she could do—or anyone could do something about it. Diana was stuck in Hell, and she really didn’t do much in her life that would be deserving of it. Never much for vices, Diana spent her time writing and happily enjoying solitude and peace of mind. It was easier. Maybe that was just a mistake. She didn’t really live, did she?
Diana breathed and went down the staircase. She could at least do some reading. Stopping at the mirror, she realized she looked different. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were sharp green. Diana’s medium-length black hair was in dramatic side-swept tight curls. The scariest thing about her appearance change was the silver with black-tipped animal ears on the top of her head through her hair. Canine? She couldn’t quite tell.
She tugged on one of the ears and winced. They were real. Great. So were the dark swirling designs on her arms. Diana shook her head and walked out of the room.
According to Charlie, the hotel itself was recently rebuilt. Despite its retro texture, it had a new feeling. If Diana had described it in a book, it would have called back to the golden years of elegance. The library door was cracked, and Diana slipped inside, glancing around.
The books! Oh, she felt at home for the first time since arriving. So many books. Her feet carried her to the nearest shelf, and her fingers lovingly stroked the spines—such beautiful creations. Of course, it looked like this section was entirely about sins, but still, someone spent time and effort to create.
There was a sudden screech, and music began playing at the far end of the vast library. It had a swirling texture like an old record player, and Diana tilted her head before quietly moving in that direction. The music was also from another era—something she recognized at a themed party or Mardi Gras. It felt like the atmosphere of the hotel was fitting.
Diana was tucked around a bookcase when she drew closer to the music’s origin and saw a sitting area around a fireplace. It was comfy, with plush seating and areas for a tea cart or drinks. Above the fire sat a giant deer head, which was strange given the room’s element —a book haven, not a hunting lodge.
There was a creature sitting near the fire. A demon? Whatever he was, he sat there and bobbed his foot while sipping a glass. Dangerous. This stranger was the first person she came across in Hell that held that texture. A soul-eater. It rippled through the air as a warning signal.
“It’s rude to keep someone waiting, my dear.”
Diana jerked and scowled as she walked around the bookcase and toward him.
A giant toothy grin worthy of nightmares. When the crimson fellow met her gaze, Diana tipped her head in the slightest. He was in a pinstripe suit and had large, alert ears above his head. There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in her mind that this stranger could and would kill for pure enjoyment.
“I do have to say, your father’s writing was sloppy, but yours was quite tasteful. Violent, but not without cause. The blending of needed consumption. Sit, Miss Damask. I brought you something for your nerves.” The demon’s voice had an old-style texture, with the crackling of a microphone accompanying it. A radio? It sounded like a radio was continually on when he spoke.
She waited a moment and tilted her head at him. The stranger tapped a clawed finger against the glass and stared at her with half-lidded eyes. There was almost an odd understanding of the moment. It set her hair on edge and made her skin crawl with anticipation.
Diana eventually moved cautiously around the sofa and sat down, smoothing out her black pants. The stranger’s unwavering smile presented the glass at her fingertips. She took it and nodded before sipping it.
“A pen, hm? Did you suspect any misgivings? It is quite interesting that you are here, and he is… well, redeeming qualities are not what they appear, my dear.”
Diana frowned as she sipped her glass. This demon held an odd sense of resistance. Who was this demon among those seeking redemption? Not one who was actively apologetic for any past misgivings.
“Are you mute?” He asked.
Diana shook her head.
“Are you scared?”
Again, she shook her head.
Something flashed in the stranger’s eyes. “Well, then. Speak. We cannot have a conversation if you don’t use your voice. I don’t appreciate wasting air space.”
“Who are you?” Diana frowned.
“Alastor, the radio demon, of course,” He declared while shifting closer to Diana in his seat. “You’ve seen better days. A poor, unfortunate… soul. Do you remember how you died?”
“Quite an unpleasant question for someone looking for decorum. Do you often stomp on someone’s foot in conversational dancing?” Diana replied.
Alastor laughed and waved his cane... no a microphone. It was a performance. A, cards all to himself, type. His smile was continual. His expression only shifted with his eyes and the degrees of his smile. A mask for a killer. “Aren’t you charming? Tell me, my dear, how has the realization that you’re in Hell working for your moral high ground? You should take an extended hand if you plan to survive.”
“You sound jealous, Mr. Radio Demon,” Diana sneered.
He chuckled and sipped his glass. “Jealousy is a silly whirl of a thing, Miss Damask. It does not serve me. However, it is darling that you would assume such. Proving one’s worth in conversation might be of value for you.”
“Me either,” Diana said and bounced her shoulders slightly. “I have nothing to prove to anyone.”
“That remains to be seen,” Alastor stood up and wagged an index finger at her. “Come along. We have work to do.”
“Work?” Diana frowned.
“I’m employing your talents. Consider it a serviceable act of goodwill despite your lack of power,” Alastor replied before pulling her from her seat.
Diana stared at Alastor’s face and pulled her arm from him. “I’d rather you not touch me.”
“Oh?” Alastor questioned as he moved closer. “Uncomfortable?” It was a baited question.
Diana moved to poke Alastor’s chest, and he gripped her wrist. They stared at each other, and Diana blinked as she noticed a glowing hue to the black markings on her arms. Alastor lifted her arm and manipulated it closer to his eyes.
“Intriguing,” Alastor mused.
“What’s this?” Diana asked.
“A fascinating reaction. A defense mechanism. Shall we see what you can do with it?” He asked.
“You don’t seem to be the good-willed demon of the year like Charlie. What do you want?” Diana inquired as she tried to pull her wrist from him.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he coaxed her toward a desk nearby and offered Diana a quill. “This tool will have to be used for a trial. A test, if you will. Write something?”
“You want me to write?” Diana scowled. There was some game or plan. She could almost smell it. Could she truly trust someone who seemed like he wouldn’t have a problem killing her if she didn’t?
“Why, yes. You were skilled enough to use the written word in your life. It wouldn’t be a wild conjecture to use such in Hell. Don’t you agree? Write something,” Alastor suggested and pressed the quill pen into Diana’s hand.
Diana yanked her wrist from him and held the quill in her left hand. Alastor was close and overbearing, which frustrated her. She was about to turn and write on the paper when green mist spilled from the nib. She blinked as the words materialized.
Back off.
Alastor moved to the corner of the desk and made a humming sound of amusement. “How very interesting. So your talents do translate. How did you die?”
Diana slanted her head and thought. Before she could recall the memory, the quill in her hand released more green mist.
I was drowned in a lake by my agent.
She blinked and glanced at the quill. What in the world? How was this possible when she didn’t even remember how she died? What the Hell? Drowned in a lake? What an absolutely lame way to die!
“Ah, greed by another killed you. Your novels are likely worth much more now,” Alastor chuckled in a slight sing-song tone and tapped his chin. “Charlie, dear. You can come in now. Sleuthing is not a talent of yours.”
Charlie poked her head around the bookcase and winced. “I was just worried, Alastor. Diana had a rough day. I know you can be a bit… much.”
Alastor laughed and tilted his head. “She is far more secure in herself than you believe,” he said and stood up.
Diana offered the quill back to him. “Thank you.”
He ignored the offer and instead moved a touch closer. Alastor laughed and clutched each of Diana’s cheeks, running the length of his thumb and index to each side. It was a position of near condescension and command. “It’s never an issue with someone so intelligent and charming. You never did a single wrong thing in your life, hmm?”
“I’m no angel… obviously. Let me go,” Diana frowned and glared up at him.
“Maybe not, who’s to say… but you write about the most interesting sinners as gods nonetheless. Do you have a similar appetite? No, not you. Sweet little wordsmith,” Alastor laughed with morbid humor laced in his tone.
“If you’re flat-out critiquing me for my lack of vices, you can fuck off,” Diana said through her teeth.
Charlie cleared her throat awkwardly. “Is everything okay? I’m… do you both have a history? Maybe met before?”
“No,” They said together.
Alastor released Diana and tilted his head. “It isn’t often we have such a good sinner among us. I was only enjoying the entertaining factor of such a thing. It just might get her killed. We wouldn’t want that yet. There’s more of a story to be told.”
Diana snarled and pointed her finger at Alastor, but the sound didn’t wholly sound human. “Never touch me without permission again, Radio Demon…” she warned, pointing a clawed finger at him.
“Quite interesting…” Alastor mused and tilted his microphone under Diana’s chin. “A clever little fox without a desire to devour the chickens in the coop. This indeed is a shift from routine.”
Charlie blinked and glanced between them. “Were you… testing her, Alastor?”
“Yes. I apologize, Diana. It was needed to see if you were a danger to anyone in the hotel. I do hope you understand. I shall make it up to you tomorrow,” Alastor said, swaying as his microphone base touched the ground.
Diana blinked and relaxed a little. “Oh… Actually, I can understand that. Okay, Mr—”
“Alastor. There’s no need for formalities now,” he corrected with an elegant wave of his fingers. “After all, we know so much more about each other, don’t we?”
“Alastor, thank you,” Diana replied.
“Now, my dears, you go ahead and have dinner. Be good girls and get to know each other. We will have plenty of work to do,” Alastor declared and patted Charlie’s head before walking away.
Diana frowned as she watched him leave.
Charlie laughed slightly awkwardly. “Alastor is… an acquired taste. He seems to like you if he wants to talk with you on your first day here.”
“I’d hate to see what he’s like with disdain,” Diana said, barely smiling.
“Yeah, he’s not someone to piss off, but he agreed to help with the hotel and truly has,” Charlie replied.
The demon, who was missing an eye, walked over. “Charlie, did you decide what to do for dinner?”
“Diana, would you like to join us? A little camaraderie wouldn’t be bad,” Charlie smiled.
“No… I think I need some more time alone. I might try to write,” Diana replied, holding up the feather quill with an amused frown. “I want to figure out how this works.”
“Vaggie, we should use her skills to promote the hotel!” Charlie gasped.
“Maybe… but I think Diana wants some time alone, Charlie,” Vaggie said.
Diana nodded. “Have a good evening.”
When Diana paced away, her ears flickered at catching the whispering from the ladies on the other side of the library.
“I really like her. I think we could really help her,” Charlie murmured.
“First, she needs to be okay with Hell. It’s hard to adjust to when you didn’t think you’d end up here, and you said she was sent here due to her father, not her life,” Vaggie said.
Diana nodded once to herself and went back to her room. That was quite enough for one day. There was a small box on the bed when she entered her space. Diana glanced around and frowned. Inside of it was a beautiful leather-bound journal and a note.
Welcome to Hell.
There was no ownership of the gift and no sign or by the box itself to announce who and what intentions. Hell was already proving odd, but Diana had no choice but to dive in. She had the quill and now a journal. At least she could get her concerns out so she could relax… maybe.
