Chapter Text
You woke up plummeting toward the ground, wind whipping around you, the air thick with the stench of sulfur, burning trash, and death. Your eyes snapped open to a sky glowing red above, and you braced yourself for what came next. You hit hard, the impact driving the air from your lungs. The world spun violently as you gasped, struggling to breathe. You tried to sit up, but darkness crept in at the edges of your vision, slowly swallowing everything until the world began to fade.
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You woke dazed and disoriented, your body aching as if you’d been run over. Despite it all, a strange sense of safety wrapped around you, steady, unfamiliar, but real. You opened your eyes slowly, taking in what you could without moving. The walls around you were deep reds and rich browns, trimmed with gold that caught the faint light overhead. A red canopy glowed softly where sunlight filtered through a nearby window. Beneath your fingers, the sheets felt impossibly smooth, silk sliding against your skin. You traced slow circles across the fabric, grounding yourself in the sensation.
As your senses returned, the situation unraveled into something impossible. Just moments ago, you had been falling from the sky; now you lay in a bed of silk. None of it made sense. Where were you, really? And weren’t you supposed to be… dead?
You shot upright in bed, only to nearly black out as pain lanced through you. Where were you? Panic surged, but you forced yourself to slow down, drawing in steady breaths until the world stopped tilting. Carefully, you eased back against the pillows.
Your eyes darted around the room, wide and searching, until they landed on the window. Beyond it stretched a crimson sky, and far below, a city of jagged, towering buildings clawed upward as if trying to reach it.
You studied the world below with a mixture of fear and fascination. Was this Hell? If it was, it didn’t resemble anything you’d ever been told to expect. No fire, no endless torment. Well, at least not yet.
Before you could decide what to do next, a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” you croaked, your voice rough and unsteady.
Two figures stepped inside.
The first was a tall blonde woman, her skin nearly ghostly pale, with two red circles painted neatly on her cheeks. She wore a tailored pinkish-red suit, finished with a black bow tie. Your gaze shifted to the second figure beside her.
He was even taller, dressed in a deep crimson suit that matched his hair. Two fuzzy ears rose from the top of his head, and a red cane rested casually in one hand. A wide, uncomfortably fixed yellow smile stretched across his face, charming in one moment, unsettling in the next.
“Hi! Welcome to Hell! My name’s Charlie, and this is Alastor!” the blonde said brightly, her voice full of warmth.
You blinked, slowly processing her words. Then your eyes drifted back toward the window.
“Hm,” you muttered.
It was meant to stay in your head, but it slipped out anyway.
Clearing your throat, you quickly turned your attention back to them.
“So,” you said slowly, “this is…” You hesitated, searching for the right word. “Hell?”
Charlie let out a nervous little laugh. “Yeah! Isn’t it great?”
“Yes. Great.” You kept your gaze fixed on them, eyes flicking back and forth as you tried to make sense of it all.
Charlie cleared her throat, stepping forward slightly as if to bridge the awkward silence.
“You landed at the right place,” she continued, “This is the Hazbin Hotel, where we redeem those who sinned in their previous lives and get them up into Heaven.”
Your eyebrow lifted slightly. “Oh yeah? And how do you do that? Does it really work?”
A low chuckle rolled through the room.
You turned toward Alastor, who was watching you with quiet, unsettling amusement.
“She does ask good questions, doesn’t she?” he said, his eyes glinting with interest. “What did you say your name was?”
“Vixen,” you replied cautiously. “Can you tell me more?”
Charlie seemed to brighten at that, as if she’d been waiting for the chance.
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Within two hours, you’d gotten the full rundown of Hell. Its hierarchy, its strange social order, and the annual exterminations you instantly despised. You’d just arrived after the most recent one, though, from the fury Heaven still held toward Hell, you weren’t sure that was much of a blessing.
At some point, Alastor had slipped away while Charlie spoke, but she told you plenty about the other residents of the hotel. Their pasts, their habits, their sins.
When the long introduction finally ended, Charlie smiled brightly.
“Welcome here. Make yourself at home. Once you’ve settled in, you can decide whether you want to stay or head out into the city. Dinner will be soon. Would you prefer to eat up here or join the rest of us?”
“I’ll stay up here tonight, thanks,” you said with a small laugh. “I need to unpack everything.”
She nodded kindly. “Of course, someone will bring your dinner up soon. In the meantime, there's a shower and some fresh clothes. I think we’re about the same height. Tomorrow we can go shopping if you’d like.”
You thanked her, wished her goodnight, and watched the door close behind her before making your way to the bathroom.
Inside, you shut the door and face the mirror.
Right away, you could tell you were different from the others you’d seen. Your hair fell in dark red waves, your skin warm and tanned, alive in a way that didn’t quite match where you were. But beneath it, a hollow ache stirred.
Your gaze dropped to your forearms.
Two long, vertical scars ran down each arm, thinner cuts crossing over them. The sight hit hard, sharp, and sudden.
Not now, you told yourself. It was too soon.
You turned away, twisting the shower knob. Warm water poured over you, rinsing away grime, ash, and the faint sting of memory. You worked carefully, scrubbing your scalp twice, conditioning, shaving, washing until your skin felt clean, almost new. By the time you stepped out, wrapped in steam and a towel, you felt, if only for a moment, like yourself again.
You dressed, braided your hair, and stepped back into your room.
A tray of soup waited on the table by the window.
You moved closer, noticing the handwritten note beside it.
Hope you enjoy this homestyle chicken soup we prepared xoxo.
You smiled faintly as you sat down, lifting the spoon for a careful sip. Warmth spread through you, familiar and grounding. It tasted like something you used to make back home.
Your eyes drifted to the window, lingering there, caught on a memory you couldn’t quite reach anymore.