✶ !? FALLEN HEARTS

prologue.

The night sky above Hell was a swirling canvas of crimson and black, its twisted colors blending into an ever-moving storm that mirrored the chaos below. Amidst the desolation and ruin, the Hazbin Hotel stood as a peculiar anomaly—a grand, gothic structure that defied the very nature of its surroundings. The air was thick with the scent of brimstone and ash, a constant reminder of the infernal realm (Y/n) Seraphine now called home.

(Y/n) stood at the edge of the hotel's rooftop, her gaze fixed on the horizon where Hell's chaotic expanse seemed to stretch endlessly. Her long, dark hair billowed behind her in the warm, sulfurous breeze, and her eyes, a shade of violet that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe, glowed faintly in the dim light. She was a vision of both beauty and terror, an angel fallen from grace yet retaining an ethereal elegance that set her apart from the other damned souls that roamed the inferno.

For as long as she could remember, (Y/n) had been haunted by the memory of her fall—a moment shrouded in shadows and pain, where the light of Heaven had abandoned her, casting her into the darkness below. She did not speak of it, not to Charlie, the well-meaning and optimistic owner of Hazbin Hotel, nor to any of the other residents. It was her burden to bear, her shame to conceal.

But tonight, something felt different. There was a stirring in the air, a sensation that made her skin prickle with unease. The feeling had been growing for days, a nagging suspicion that something was coming, something that threatened to unravel the delicate balance she had managed to maintain since her arrival.

As (Y/n)'s eyes scanned the horizon, a flash of movement caught her attention. It was faint, barely perceptible, but her sharp senses picked up on it immediately. A figure, cloaked in shadows, moved swiftly across the landscape, heading directly toward the hotel. She narrowed her eyes, her curiosity piqued, and decided to investigate.

With a fluid motion, she leapt from the rooftop, landing gracefully on the ground below. Her movements were almost supernatural in their grace, a testament to the remnants of her angelic nature. She made her way toward the figure, keeping to the shadows, her footsteps silent against the cracked, uneven ground.

The figure moved with purpose, and as (Y/n) drew closer, she could make out more details—a tall, imposing silhouette wrapped in a tattered cloak, its face hidden beneath a hood. The air around it seemed to ripple with an otherworldly energy, a dark aura that sent a chill down (Y/n)'s spine. This was no ordinary demon, she realized, but something far more dangerous.

(Y/n) followed at a distance, her mind racing with possibilities. Who was this figure, and why were they heading toward Hazbin Hotel? The question gnawed at her, and she quickened her pace, determined to find out.

The figure finally came to a halt in front of the hotel, pausing at the entrance as if considering its next move. (Y/n) slipped into the shadows of a nearby alley, her breath held as she watched. The figure reached out a gloved hand and touched the door, the wood beneath its fingers instantly blackening and withering as if consumed by rot.

A sense of dread settled over (Y/n), and she instinctively reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh—a relic from her days as a celestial warrior, forged in the fires of Heaven and capable of cutting through the very fabric of reality. She had sworn never to use it again, but the sight of this figure, and the darkness it seemed to bring, made her reconsider.

The figure stepped back, as if satisfied with its handiwork, and then slowly turned its head, as if sensing (Y/n)'s presence. For a moment, their eyes met, though the figure's were hidden in shadow, and (Y/n) felt a jolt of recognition—a memory, distant and fragmented, stirred within her. But before she could grasp it, the figure vanished, dissolving into the night like smoke.

(Y/n) stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. She had faced countless dangers since her fall, battled demons and monsters that would have sent others fleeing in terror, but this—this was something else entirely. There was a darkness in that figure, a power that felt ancient and malevolent, something that threatened not just the hotel, but everything she had come to care for in this cursed place.

She approached the door cautiously, her dagger still in hand. The wood was charred where the figure had touched it, the edges crumbling to ash at her touch. Whatever magic had been used, it was potent, far beyond anything she had encountered in Hell before. A warning, perhaps, or a prelude to something far worse.

As she stood there, staring at the decaying wood, the door creaked open, revealing Charlie on the other side. The princess of Hell looked as if she had just woken up, her eyes bleary and her hair disheveled.

"(Y/n)?" Charlie's voice was soft, tinged with concern. "What are you doing out here? Is everything okay?"

(Y/n) hesitated for a moment before sliding the dagger back into its sheath. "I'm fine," she replied, her voice calm and steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. "I thought I saw something, but it's gone now."

Charlie looked past her, at the door, and frowned. "What happened to the door? Did you do this?"

(Y/n) shook her head. "No, it was like this when I got here. I think someone—something—was here."

Charlie's frown deepened, and she stepped outside, examining the door with a critical eye. "This... this isn't good," she muttered, mostly to herself. "I need to tell Vaggie. We should—"

"No," Y/N interrupted, her tone firm. "There's no need to worry the others. Whatever it was, it's gone now. I'll keep an eye out, make sure it doesn't come back."

Charlie looked uncertain, but she nodded slowly. "Okay... but if you see anything else, promise you'll tell me?"

(Y/n) forced a smile, a rare expression on her usually stoic face. "I promise."

With that, Charlie returned inside, leaving (Y/n) alone in the night once more. But this time, she didn't return to the rooftop. Instead, she remained where she was, her eyes scanning the horizon, searching for any sign of the figure's return.

Hours passed, and the night slowly gave way to the dim, perpetual twilight of Hell's morning. But (Y/n) remained vigilant, her thoughts consumed by the encounter. The sense of recognition she had felt, the way the figure had looked at her—it all pointed to something far deeper than a mere threat to the hotel. It was personal, and (Y/n) knew that whatever was coming, it was tied to her past, to the secrets she had buried deep within herself.

She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not now. The safety of the hotel, of Charlie and the others, depended on her staying one step ahead of whatever darkness was lurking in the shadows. And yet, a part of her—a small, cruel part that she tried to keep buried—was almost eager for the confrontation. She had spent so long running from her past, hiding from the truth of her fall. Perhaps it was time to face it, to confront the darkness head-on and reclaim the power she had lost.

As the first rays of dim light broke through the churning clouds, (Y/n) finally allowed herself to relax, though only slightly. She had no answers, only more questions, but she knew one thing for certain—this was just the beginning. The figure would return, and when it did, she would be ready.

But as she turned to reenter the hotel, a single thought echoed in her mind, a whisper of a memory long forgotten, brought to the surface by the figure's gaze.

"Why did you fall, (Y/n)?"

The question lingered, unanswered, as she disappeared into the shadows of the hotel, the door closing softly behind her.