The Descent Into Hell Is Most Certainly NOT Easy

"You are not going to that dance, and that's final," Sol commanded.

They were back at the Diaz's, in Star's room. The moment they'd gotten home from school, Star had proceeded to throw herself dramatically onto her bed and debate the pros and cons of going to the ball with Tom with herself. Not that she really wanted to go, of course, but Sol didn't know that.

You see, while Star wasn't known for her ability to keep secrets, there was one that she had managed to keep from her brother for months―the real reason that she and Tom had broken up. It wasn't because of his anger issues, or the fact that he could be insanely controlling. (Well...more like it wasn't just that.) Star had seen the way the Tom had looked at her brother. She wasn't as dumb as she looked.

The secret that Sol didn't know was that Tom only dated Star because she looked like Sol.

"Aw, come on, Sol," Star protested. "It could be fun!"

"No."

"Are you two still arguing about the ball thing?" Marco asked, appearing in the doorway.

"Yes," the Mewni twins said in unison.

Marco rolled his eyes, suddenly quite happy about being an only child. "Hate to say this, Star, but I agree with Sol. You should stay here, where it's always fun. Like, guaranteed."

Sol nodded in his direction. "Finally the Earth Boy makes sense."

"Well, this is a different kind of fun," Star said, jumping off her bed.

"You know that I don't trust Tom," Sol sighed.

"Ditto," Marco agreed. "Maybe we should go with you."

"No!" Sol snapped. "We're not going at all."

Star grinned, happy for the distraction. She quickly fished the little bell out of her skirt and rang it.

"Whoops, too late," she said, false innocence colouring her voice. "Looks like I have to go. It would be rude not to, since Tom'll be expecting me."

Sol let out an exasperated groan and facepalmed, for he knew she was right. And Sol Butterfly was all about being polite. "Star, what on Earth am I going to do with you?"

She shrugged and grinned. "Love you too!"

Sol spent the next ten minutes pacing the room, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. Curse his respect for proper manners! Star was pouting on her bed, finding it ridiculous that he hadn't figured out the perfect solution yet. Maybe Earth was wearing on Sol's mental productivity?

"Hey, Sol," Star said suddenly, tired of waiting. "Remember when we were little and used to trick Mom and Dad by switching places?"

"Before they learned to tell us apart by our hearts," Sol replied, a tiny smile turning his lips at the memory. "I remember. What's your―oh!" The smile disappeared, taking all the colour in Sol's face with it. "No, Star. No, no, no, no, no. I am not posing as you and going to that ball."

"Sol in a dress?" Marco snorted. "Now that's something I could go my life without seeing."

Star grinned, jumping up. "Aw, come on! It would be for one night, and you said it yourself...you don't trust Tom with me. Soooooooooooooooooo what better way to make sure he doesn't do anything to me than by being me?"

A lot of things can be said about Star Butterfly, but one must admit that the girl is good at convincing people when she wants to be. And right now, she certainly did want to.

Sol groaned and sank onto Star's bed. He couldn't think of a single idea that was better, which meant that he was stuck. Either let Star go and leave her with that jerk, or go along with her kooky plan and keep her safe. "You're insane, Star."

"So insane that it just might work!" she exclaimed. "Now, we just need to do something about your hair…"

"My hair?" Sol yelped.

Another ten minutes and a lot of grumbling later, Star had finished making Sol into her literal twin. Since they had the same face, it hadn't taken much―fake eyelashes here, concealer and pink face paint to fix his hearts there, a hair-lengthening spell that only worked because Sol hadn't let Star do it herself there, and voila. Sol had become a carbon copy of his twin sister, right down to their hearts.

"And nowwwwwwwwwww―DRESS!" Star exclaimed, bouncing over to her closet.

Sol whimpered. "Do I have to?"

"Stop being a baby," Star called over her shoulder. She tossed dress over dress onto the floor, seemingly not happy with any of them, and naturally one dress smacked a chortling Marco in the head. Karma. And then came the ever-triumphant "A-ha!", and Star emerged from her closet, brandishing a dress as if it were a banner of pride. "Put this on!" she exclaimed, shoving her find into Sol's hands.

He looked down at it. The dress was pretty understated for Star (which explained why she'd never even taken the tag off), lacking the usual frills and hearts and giant bows. It was made from soft pink silk―ugh, pink was so not his colour―with off-the-shoulder straps and a modest white bow that tied around the waist. The skirt was layered with rose and white, giving it a slight poof. Simple, yet cute. Sol actually didn't hate it.

And when he emerged from the bathroom wearing it a few minutes later, it actually looked pretty good on him. Add calf-high white boots with pink hearts on the toes, a white lace slave bracelet glove, and Star's signature devil horn headbands, and he was set.

So set, in fact, that Marco was actually stunned speechless upon seeing the finished disguise. "Whoa…" Marco breathed. "Sol, you look…you look…"

"Like Star, I know," Sol sighed.

"Amazing," Marco finished. "You should wear a dress more often."

Sol rolled his eyes. "Very funny, Diaz, very funny."

"You ready to go, bro?" Star asked, holding out the little bell.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Sol responded, taking the tiny hammer from her hand and tolling the bell.

This time, a deep, resonant gong sounded out, causing Sol to frown. Why hadn't that sound been heard before? Had the bell not actually worked until such time that the party was ready for Star to attend, or what? (Little did he know that Star had never actually rang the bell the first time.)

Almost immediately, a flame whooshed up outside her window, and a winged demon flew into view, pulling a carriage on his back. The doors opened like some spooky elevator―just like Tom to be overly dramatic like this―a plume of fog spilling out like some cheesy Halloween display as a bridge lowered onto the balcony.

"Ugh, smells like burnt toast," Sol muttered. "Might as well get this over with. Wish me luck, you two."

With that he clambered into the carriage (scare-age? No? Okay) and told the demon chauffeur to take him to the bottom floor. And that was how Sol descended into the Underworld, certain that this was how his life ended, in makeup and a dress.