CHAPTER 1

Everyone loves Magic (Except for when it's busted)

Circa 1998, Pentagram City

For the religious following their pathway to Heaven and the Theologists who study said pathways, they agree on so very little. The former would prefer that the lids on the boxes marked Familiar & Secure to remain firmly in place; should those lids be ripped away, it would leave them exposed and trembling in existential uncertainty. The latter group, with their curious minds chafing at the very thought of having to settle, say that one must examine the contents of these boxes in the hopes of finding answers; ones that may well explain the purpose & meaning of our very Existence. Both sides disagree, and both are guilty of the same vice.

Pride.

Be you scholar or believer, both do agree that this is the Original and most Deadly of all the Sins. The list may vary in name and number across all fields of worship, but unchecked Pride remained a consistent notion for man to be wary of. And if one were to ruminate and digest this information, you'd come to realize they were right.

If you are Wrathful, it is Pride that makes you insist how you are not the one with an anger problem, it's everyone else that has a problem with it.

If you are Envious, it is Pride that makes you nibble at the idea that you and everything you own will look better by comparison if you'd only cut down those who would oppose you.

And if you suffer from the Christian definition of Gluttony, it is Pride that makes an alcoholic guard his bottle or have an extravagant Hedonist tie hands with Greed by eating food laced with gold leaf, all the while scoffing at those wanting for bread and the means to buy it.

Pride is the shadow that lurks behind all thrones in support of each of its compatriot Sins, urging them on with the promises of glory and satisfaction, of becoming that Gibraltarian stone that would not shatter for man nor beast.

It is only fitting that Lucifer Magne (not the redundant Morningstar, as it was commonly believed) was doubly crowned as both King of the realm named after his Vice and all of Hell in its entirety.

Hell was made of seven layers, with the Pride Ring located at the uppermost level. It is also the only place in Hell with the single largest population of a type of demon that isn't native-born to any of the realms: Sinner Demons. Sinners are born from the immortal souls of human beings who'd committed enough wrong in life that Heaven saw fit to deny them entrance. Thus, upon mortal death their spiritual fall shifted without warning into a literal one, dropping like a clipped bird from the Ether and landing, gracelessly and most often painfully, into an afterlife that didn't quite match what they were expecting.

It was virtually the same as living on Earth, only with vices more openly expressed, liquor stores as common as Starbucks (which are also in Hell; you really can find that cafe anywhere), and to cast a judgmental eye at someone for waltzing into a strip club or a sex shop in broad daylight was like throwing a rock at an already totaled car (a moot point). There were even vending machines that dispensed narcotics like they were candy & soda.

Last of all was the transformation that all Sinners go through. In the rush of the fall, the shell of their generic mortal coil would flake away, leaving the contents of their soul tangible and exposed as a reflection of their innermost self. Whenever a new Sinner lands in Hell, the few who bother to look up from whatever they were doing will often use their outward appearance as indication of how dangerous they are.

Which might explain why the locals in a certain part of Pentagram City were behaving different from usual.

۞Ω۞

There was a stranger travelling down the sidewalk.

Now this in itself was not odd. After all everyone falls under the stranger category until you get to know them, most everybody gets around by walking, and sidewalks lined the side of the road for the sole purpose of walking on them. What honestly made this person stand out was more due to the location of the sidewalk they were currently travelling on.

It was one of the nicer looking corners in Pentagram City. Borderlines were obvious with the abrupt change in architecture and asphalt roads cleanly replaced with smoothly interlaced bricks. Everything was vintage. From the Early Model T's that puttered down the streets to the cheerful inhabitants who strolled about their business in only the finest Ragtime and Roaring 20s fashions. A charming image worthy of an old-timey postcard.

If one ignored the entry signs that clearly read: NOW ENTERING CANNIBAL COLONY.

The stranger did not fit in. Not with his surroundings, and not with the locals. He had been spotted at random by the Colonists for almost a week now. First by a couple sneaking off to the modern electronics store a few blocks away, then by a gaggle of ladies who were bringing home "takeaway food" from the city. A bored shopkeeper that had been staring mindlessly out his storefront window at the time saw an unfamiliar figure cross over from the modern side of the road; he watched as the figure crept past his store and out of his line of sight, leaving him in boredom yet again. He would later hear how that same person had felled a small group of toughs for "greeting" him in the manner typically used for outsiders, leaving them severely injured and the stranger making a tactical withdrawal.

It was now two days later, and the stranger had returned, gliding like an ominous shadow into the Colony.

His 7-foot-tall body cut a very grim form. His straight hair ended at his shoulders and was a deep, lifeless black, and adding to his height were a pair of large, pointed ears that were currently swept backwards on his head. His face was canid-like in shape and covered in dark grey fur, with the bridge of his fanged muzzle having a slight bent that made it look as though he were wearing a perpetual sneer. From the neck down his body was completely shrouded in a dark leather cloak that barely whispered along the ground as he moved, concealing even his feet from view.

However classically styled his look was, it was one far better suited in a different territory, such as one for the more Victorian Era style Demons. He was a shade too Gothic for the residency to let him go unharried, which is why the cannibals had tried to attack him as a form of initiation days prior.

Now whenever a local caught sight of him they would pause, just for a moment, but the knowledge of what happened to their fellows made them reflect on acting. The man-bat in kind did not make eye contact with anyone, though he did keep his gaze sharp and his ears listening for any attempts. It was not long before he reached the place he was looking for:

Dashiell's Herbs, Spices, & Extracts. Est. 1835.

Tak-tak-Clatter!

The bat demon stilled with his hand grasped firmly on the door handle. His face kept forward as his ears twitched at the noise, squinting his eyes at the waist-upward panel of glass. As he stared, he saw the reflection of an empty soup can rolling aimlessly in front of an alleyway right across the road from the store. The tin scuttled on a few seconds until it came to a halt against a weed sprouting from a crack in the pavement.

Nothing moved.

With only the slightest narrowing of his eyes at the alley, the man-bat continued inside.

Ting.

He ignored the jingle from the overhead doorbell, and the shuffling around that could be heard in the backroom, as his eyes surveyed the store. The interior suggest that it may have been an apothecary at some point, but the nasal sting of medicinal wares had long since faded, replaced instead with the subtle, tickling aroma of spices. Apothecary cabinets and drawers also remained in place, all with paper labels written in crisp, legible print. Bottles and jars of all types lined the shelves, all marked with pasted on labels and with bits of twine holding price tags on them. Foldable wooden displays holding an assortment of cookbooks and other tomes related to the uses and benefits of the store's products were left to be noticed without blocking traffic, and off center of the room were large dispensers, each equipped with their own metal scoop for what was stored beneath their transparent sliding lids. There was neither speck nor dollop of merchandise out of place.

Hmm.

Their supplies looked promising. Now it was just a matter of determining exactly how well stocked this establishment really was…

"Hello there!"

The chipper greeting drew the man-bat's eyes away from a shelf of marked down items. A Sinner emerged from the backroom to stand in place behind the main counter, and his appearance was enough to make even the stoic demon raise his brow, at least internally.

Now this was a fellow you would not expect to find in an area inhabited by cannibals. Unlike him, the shopworker dressed in accepted Colony fashion: a vest, plain button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and men's slacks, all covered by a full shop apron. This did nothing to hide his fur (pepper grey with white underbelly) and the pair of long oval ears that blended colors with the cinnamon patch on his head.

A jackrabbit, selling cookbooks and condiments to people that behaved like literal predators. Hell was nothing if not ironic.

Said model of irony wore a bright grin as he went on with his sales pitch. "Welcome to Dashiell's Herbs, Spices, & Extracts! Spicing things up since 1835! I'm Dashiell. How may I help you today?"

The bat gazed over the merchandise as he approached. "I've heard your shop boasts having a very wide assortment of fine grade material. Is this true?"

Rabbit ears flicked at the surprisingly deep voice. He'd been expecting his customer to have a more Eastern European accent based on his suggested vampire get up. Instead, the man-bat spoke with a bored British drawl.

Dashiell bobbed his head, "Yes indeedy! Most all that you see here is something that was grown, prepped, packaged, or bottled by yours truly! Anything I didn't harvest myself; I get it directly from trustworthy sources!" He called attention to a small bakery display case that sat by the antique register. "These baked goods for example? All made by a long-time customer who provides them all for a commission from each purchase, all with fresh ingredients bought from this store (except the milk and eggs)."

Taking a risk, the bat handed over a strip of parchment.

"I am not familiar with this city, and therefore at a loss as to what businesses can provide what I'm searching for," he explained as Dashiell accepted the paper. "Do you have any that is listed?"

He turned his attention back to the shop wares as Dashiell reviewed the list.

"Hmm, let's see…Cinnamon, got that. Ginger root. Got that! Dandelion root. Huh, few people realize that plant can be edible. They usually ask for the greens, though. Honey. Oh, we've certainly got that." He clicked his tongue. "Y'know, I'm failing to see why you'd be having difficulty finding any of this." There was no reply, not that Dashiell was expecting one. He'd figured this customer for one of those broody, loner types. "Horseradish (blegh) got that whole and powdered. Avocado - do the stones count? No? I'll direct you to a grocer, then. Daisy roots, no, but my garden supplier can help with that. Along with the belladonna, foxglove, asphodel…. Aconite...," he trailed off.

Eyes, lidded but none the less sharp, calmly watched as the jackrabbit's body language shifted. His cheer was slowly dialing back, and his furrowed brow turned less thoughtful to more bothered. His tone grew increasingly hesitant as he read on.

"Griffin Claw, whole or powdered? Well, maybe if you found a Griffin-like demon...Bezoar? As in the rock you find in a goat stomach, bezoar? Lionfish spines? Oct- Octopus Powder? How in blazes does one even pulverize an octopus?"

By now Dashiell's customer was completely focused on the shop keeper. He didn't speak, didn't move, merely gauged the jackrabbit's reactions.

His rabbity nose was twitching. The hand that wasn't holding the list tapped a jittery little staccato on the wood counter as he looked over the more suspect items. His pattering fingers went still. As Dashiell glanced at the observing bat demon, the latter saw the moment where his mind reached a decision. The jackrabbit then rapped his fingers one last time before placing his hands flat against the counter, facing his customer dead on to look him in the eye. Both were silent for a time. Then Dashiell spoke.

"I have a healthy bouquet of asphodel flowers and a batch of wormwood. What can I make with these two things?"

"Bind the flowers together, hang them until they are completely dry, then grind them all into a very fine powder. Take the wormwood and steep it until it yields an infusion. Gather the remaining ingredients and be apt at following directions, and you will create a liquid that will put the drinker in a sleep that is so powerful that they can pass for dead. Or truly die if they're foolish enough to take more than the advised amount."

Dashiell's eyes were gleaming with excitement as he listened to the mysterious stranger. He cleared his throat. "Ahem. And, ah, what would all the other ingredients for this concoction be?" There was still a note of eagerness in his voice.

The bat raised an eyebrow. "That depends," he said drolly.

Counter raised eyebrow. "On what?"

"If you're using the proper cauldron, standard potion water, and silver knife. I would not recommend using tap water and cooking utensils."

Dashiell could barely contain his excited whoop. "You're a wizard!"

"And in need of supplies," reminded the bat.

"Yes, of course!" Dashiell hurried to open the flip up countertop then waved for him to follow. "Come on, come on! The bell will alert us to other customers!"

The bat demon moved behind the counter and followed the eager Sinner into the backroom. They ignored the shelves of inventory that lined the walls and stopped before the pair at the back. The jackrabbit glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, do you mind…?"

The man-bat calmly turned his back to him. He wouldn't dare go along with such a request under normal circumstances. More so given that he was literally in Hell and a territory with "cannibal" in its title. But, unbeknownst to his new associate, he'd learned much about Dashiell's character during that moment where they locked eyes. The jackrabbit wouldn't attack unless he made a wrong move.

He also saw the part where Dashiell was getting desperate for help.

His ears flicked at the click of a lock followed by a soft creak, suggesting regular oiling to stay quiet. All ending with a satisfied huff of, "Alrighty! You can turn back now," from the spice peddler.

One of the two shelves were now hanging open on a hinge, revealing a wide downward staircase. They continued down into the cellar where Dashiell turned a knob at the end of the stairs, switching on the industrial strings of Edison lightbulbs that hung from the beams. The stone cellar was dry, clean, and spacious. As above in the actual store, the shelves and dispensers were all placed to avoid crowding without limiting the offered supply.

For the first time since he arrived in Hell, the man-bat felt right at home.

Dashiell remained on the bottom stairway platform to give his customer a moment to browse. But the other knew he was anxious. Quiet as he was, the bat could hear him emit small puffs of breath and would fidget with his apron or clothes when he thought the bat wasn't looking, clearly bolstering his nerves. He didn't want to scare away the answer to his problems. Eventually the quiet was broken.

"Finding everything alright?" Dashiell winced at the eager crack in his voice.

The bat gave a low hum as he checked off his list. "Much of what I am searching for is here and with your regular inventory." He cut his eyes to Dashiell. "I've noticed several gaps in your variety, however." He added pointedly.

Dashiell took a deep breath before speaking. "Yes," he affirmed. "I imagine you have."

"You're not a wizard."

He shook his head. "Not fully. I'm a - what is it that you Brits call'em? A squick?"

"Squib."

"Really? As in a weak firecracker? Huh. I'd have thought 'squick' for the implied disgust."

The bat only stared at him.

"Right," coughed Dashiell. "Not important. Anyway, so I'm basically a squib. But a slightly more capable one. Can't fly a broom or turn a hat into a rabbit," he gave a quiet laugh at that part. "But I can do this." He held an open hand towards a sealed jar of dead beetles that sat over a foot away, summoning it to him in a slow but steady pace. "My real talent is being a dab hand when it comes to all of this." He waved the grasped jar around the room. "Magical or non, I'm very good at sussing out quality ingredients. Became quite good at growing and harvesting them, too. Only work I do with potions though is some of the prepping. I left the rest of that to my business partner."

"Who is no longer in the picture," the bat surmised.

Dashiell nodded. "He went out a few years ago and never returned. No messages, no calls. Nothing. I'm pretty sure he's dead."

The bat stopped being subtle. "You're a squib, your late partner had been a wizard, and half of your business caters to magical folk. Why are you seeking to gain favor from me?"

The jackrabbit denied nothing and laid his own cards on the table. "Did you not see where we are? This is Hell. Determining a proper Magical from a regular crazy with spoofy powers is a lot trickier than you think. Magicals that aren't careful don't last very long down here."

"Wouldn't the fact that we're now demons in Hell overrule the discovery that magic existed in life?"

"Pshh. Yeah, right." Dashiell scoffed. "It's like they say, "As above, so below". Our packaging may be different, and we may have gained a special power or two, but in the end, we Sinners are still the messed-up dregs of humanity. I've met Sinners that go as far back as The Inquisition, and to this day they won't admit to any wrongdoing. They firmly believe that God sent them here because they didn't punish enough heretics."

The other demon had nothing to contest that. He'd lost his faith in Humanity at a very young age, so he knew Dashiell spoke the truth.

Humans were Humans. With all the damages and faults that burden came with.

۞Ω۞

"It's right over here."

The jackrabbit led him over to the space beneath the cellar stairway. There were stacks of empty crates and baskets in front of the wall, on which was a large, framed image of an advert poster illustrated in a Hellish bent of the art nouveau style. He watched as Dashiell spread out his fingers and pressed them on similarly spread points on the poster. From there, a bright glow leaked across the linework until it spread to the frame. Dashiell carefully grasped the side near the staircase and pulled it open to reveal a large niche that had been concealed by the frame.

Nestled right in the middle of the niche was a gem: clear, uncut, and the size of an ostrich egg. Disconnected lines of alien meaning were scoured around the stone, one straight line coming out from under it before smoothly curving to circle around it, then curving yet again before the line would connect to climb along its recess, forming an array of branched out markings that petered out before nearing the edge of the alcove. The carved lines emitted a mute glow as if somebody was playing with a dimmer switch. To an uninformed outsider, this was little more than a minimal yet elaborate form of decoration. Both man-bat and jackrabbit saw this for what it was: a magic Keystone.

"It started weakening roughly two years ago. I have a book explaining how to fix it, but finding any true magic folk that can help me has been very difficult. Too many of them would kill me simply for crossing paths with them, and others would gladly do it to take the stone, my supplies. Hell, my entire business!"

"And yet, you have no problem asking a newly damned stranger," drawled the bat. "That you met. In the Cannibal Colony." An unspoken You dunce was implied.

"Yeah. That is pretty stupid, isn't it?" At least Dashiell was willing to admit his folly. Maybe he wasn't a complete dunderhead.

"So why did you?"

Dashiell looked him over. "Honestly? You struck me as a trustworthy fellow. No, really!" He did a panicked wave at the other's flat glare. "I mean, you seem a bit spooky at first. Really spooky, actually - Not that that's a bad thing! A dangerous exterior can be a very useful deterrent around here. I mean, c'mon. Who wants to mess with a guy that looks as if he'd eat bowl of nails for breakfast?" Not even 3 minutes and he's already back to dunderhead status.

"So being "spooky" equates to being trustworthy, does it?" You could fill a bucket with the amount of sarcasm dripping in the bat's voice.

"No." Dashiell huffed, reeling himself in. "The point is: you're a scary guy. Dangerous. My instincts tell me so. But," he raised an index finger for emphasis, "they're also telling me that it's okay to trust you."

"That's it?"

"Mock me if you will, but those instincts are what kept me alive in one of the most cheerfully hostile environments in Pentagram City. Might have lived to a ripe old age if I'd been quicker to follow them as a mortal. So? Do you think you can fix it? I don't know about you, but I'm tired of running into walls and corners that keep changing places on me."

The man-bat accepted the offered spell book and studied the bookmarked pages.

Like regular keystones, their placement can strengthen and support that which is built around it. Magical Keystones were far more versatile. A combination of stone and magic quality increased the overall stability of the entire structure rather than a small part of it, and additional spell work can be used on it to expand the layout, be the changes minor or major.

The building was comprised of Dashiell's business, the cellar, and his upstairs apartment, all capped off with a rooftop garden and greenhouse. Where the outside of the building remained perfectly static, only changing in accordance with the very few updates permitted within the Colony bylaws, the interior was not so. Not counting the protection wards, the main floor of the shop was largely the same. The cellar had been altered with a mezzanine floor accessed by a sloped rampway, his apartment restructured to have more rooms, and a freight elevator that went up to the roof or down below to the shop and the cellar was installed. All of this could be hidden away from uninformed visitors using one of two ways: the owner registering their intent while touching a solid surface within the home or by doing so as you turned a key in the appropriate lock. This would make the extra dimensions shift from being openly accessed, shrinking the apartment to its original state, and magically sealing the door to the cellar.

Evidence of the Keystone's loss of power was not clear at first, but over time, the fluctuating layout started to become noticeable. Certain doors would stick as though warped in the frames, the placement of furniture or belongings would change by centimeters, and the lift was delayed by moments. Then doors started to pop out of existence (sometimes leaving him stranded in a room until the door reappeared), walls & objects shifted by inches and then feet, and the lift would randomly ignore a floor before it finally stopped working all together. The cellar no longer had the ramps or even the mezzanine level, forcing him to relocate the displaced inventory. To make matters worse, the shifting architecture would interfere with his protection wards, leaving them functional one day or underpowered the next.

With his business partner gone and no witch or wizard sinner that he could trust, Dashiell awoke each day expecting to find his place of work & residence completely downsized. Meeting & befriending someone who possessed both a Keystone and the knowledge to culture it had been dumb luck, but with that person gone and the tiny voice in the jackrabbit's head always warning him against telling someone about it, the deterioration of his lifestyle was something he'd grown to make peace with.

Then the bat demon waltzed through his door, and the realization that his mysterious new customer was looking for potion ingredients had the voice chitter like a bird greeting springtime.

Never thought he'd say this in Hell of all places, but things were finally starting to look up.

۞Ω۞

Meanwhile, Outside Dashiell's Shop

While the bat and jackrabbit were down in the basement, there was movement across the road. Figures who'd been hiding in the shadows of the alleyway grew impatient and started making their way toward the store.

۞Ω۞

Both Dashiell and the bat demon's ears flicked when they heard the shop doorbell, the former looking in the direction of the noise, while the other stayed focused on what he was doing.

"Go manage your shop," the bat directed. "I'll join you when this is finished."

"Are you sure?" Asked Dashiell. "I can send them away."

The bat kept his palms open over the stone as the glow turned lighter. "I am certain. Luckily, there was no real damage to the Keystone. It needed routine maintenance for it to remain in alignment with the runes."

Huffing in relief, Dashiell hurried upstairs, skipping every other step in his rush. He slipped out of the hidden cellar door and carefully pushed it to without it clicking shut. He took a quick breath to calm himself down, then stepped out onto the main floor.

"Hello! Welcome to Dashiell's Herbs, Spices, and Extracts-," A low growl interrupted him.

"Where is he?"

Dashiell trailed off as his mind caught up with what he was seeing. Scattered about the room were four demons. All Sinners, and all in varying states of damage from a recent fight. The one closest to him, for example, had gauze covering the left side of his face, including his eye. Body language also told him that this Sinner had been ready to venture behind the counter.

Dashiell kept his voice even, "I beg your pardon?"

THUNK.

The other demon slapped his hand – no, not a hand – down on the counter. Whatever damaged his face had also gotten away with his left hand, cutting it off at the wrist and leaving a bandaged pointy stump.

The mauled demon leaned in, snarling. "Don't try an' act smart with me, Long Ears. We saw that rat-faced spook come in here."

Dashiell pretended to draw back as he stepped on the downstairs' alert button. Hopefully the man-bat was done with the Keystone. "I'm sorry, sir. That customer snuck out the backdoor several minutes ago."

The one-handed Sinner narrowed his eyes. "Really?" He sneered, raising the flip up counter and prompting Dashiell to move back as he strolled through it. The jackrabbit watched as he glanced around the back of his sales station for any hidden tricks; thank goodness the alert button was hidden underneath an area rug. "'He snuck out the back'? Now I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you business types don't like it when customers do that."

Dashiell's gaze remained focused on their leader, but movement in his peripheral vision alerted him that the other Sinners were inching their way closer. Whether it was to get a better view or join in on the pending violence remained to be seen.

The jackrabbit counted each second as they inched towards the backroom doorway. "It's as you said, sir: he was a very spooky guy." Almost there. "He seemed pretty convinced that he was being followed." Just a few more steps.

"Hmm, yeah. I'm sure he was. Y'know what else I'm feelin' pretty sure about?"

The Sinner's one good hand twisted its fingers in the front of Dashiell's apron, yanking him down to get in his bluntly muzzled face. "I'm pretty sure you're lyin' to us."

A hard stomp on the Sinner's instep made him loosen his grip enough for Dashiell to pull free. He leaped backwards and had just made it pass the doorframe when a fierce pain erupted across his skull, causing him to let out a yawp as his body was jerked back. A second demon had leapt over the counter and grabbed the one part of Dashiell that was within reach: his ears.

The one-handed Sinner stomped over as quickly as his now hurt foot would allow. "Where d'ya think you're going, Long Ears?" He growled, snatching the jackrabbit away from his cohort. He raised Dashiell just high enough to look him in the eye, but not so much that he could regain his footing. "We ain't done talkin' with you."

BAM! CRASH!

Dashiell's "Oof" as he dropped to the floor was lost in the racket as his assailants were sent flying over the counter. The one-handed demon plowed through a nearby foldable display while the other was painfully slammed against the row of heavy dispensers, rattling the scoops in their holders.

Dashiell and the other two demons froze, unsure of how to react.

Cellophane wrapped items crinkled as the one-handed demon struggled to sit up, groaning with pain as he moved. That was when he noticed a shadowy figure emerging from the backroom entrance.

"You!"

There will be references and Easter Eggs galore peppered throughout this story, so I thought it would be fun to list the number of which to look for at the beginning of the chapter (for the ones that have any to search for anyway) and you can take a shot at figuring out what they are.

Other chapters will likely only involve guessing the source of the Chapter titles since I intend to use lyrics from songs.

Have fun racking your brain as you try to spot any References/Easter Eggs specified in the chapter.

Number of References: 2 (Title of Story and Chapter 1 Title)

Took a lot of kicking myself in the butt (and a lot more time figuring out how to physically accomplish that), but here we go!

The first chapter of my first attempt at fanfiction (that didn't lose steam or somehow end up lost/deleted).

With it reaching over 5000 + words, this chapter was turning out a lot longer than I expected. The bat was meant to be out of the shop by now, but that will be shifted over into the next chapter, along with his name and a brief interaction with a canon character from the Hazbin/Helluva Boss universe.

When I was partway through this, Vivziepop announced that, along with Charlie's new design, her last name was changed from the original "Magne" to "Morningstar".

I am personally more partial to Magne since it was different from the typical naming scheme used for Hell/Demon themed characters in media, so while her design change will be noted, Charlie and her parents will be keeping their old name.

Very many thanks to my Deviantart friend Syravene (aka Syra) and fellow Hazbin-Helluva Boss fanfic writer Adonisus for their input and votes of confidence. Show them some love by checking out their respective works!

Not sure what else to say, so will leave off hoping that you find the story interesting.

Friendly messages and Constructive Input/Criticism is welcome.

Trolls will go unfed.
Flames will be extinguished.
And Haters will be issued a chill pill.

This story is also posted on my AO3 (Archive of Our Own) profile of the same name and will be posting artwork related to the story in it.