The early morning light of Hell's eternal crimson sky filtered through the thick panes of Charlie's penthouse window, bathing the room in a soft, dusky glow. She stood with her forehead nearly pressed against the cool glass, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if bracing against a chill that didn't exist. Below her, the new Hazbin Hotel stretched into the distance, a towering structure of gilded edges, bold reds, and hopeful whites—a beacon against the chaos of Hell.

Her breath fogged the glass faintly before dissipating. Below, the hotel gleamed in the crimson light, a fragile beacon in the chaos. Charlie's fingers tapped restlessly against her arms, her reflection trembling in the window. She'd been awake for hours, the weight of the day pressing against her like a leaden blanket. Behind her, a muffled beep-beep-beep broke the stillness as her alarm clock sprang to life. Its shrill insistence was a jarring contrast to the fragile quiet of the room.

Charlie didn't move. She barely blinked.

"Up all night again?" Vaggie's groggy voice cut through the stillness. Charlie glanced back, catching her girlfriend stretching, her messy gray hair framing her face and magenta eye squinting against the light.

She turned just slightly, enough to catch the groggy figure of Vaggie sitting up, her wings stretching wide in a fluid, birdlike motion. Her gray hair was messy, and her one visible magenta eye squinted at Charlie as if trying to will her back to bed.

"I couldn't sleep," Charlie admitted softly, brushing her fingers along the hem of her nightgown. "Today is just... big."

"You didn't," Vaggie replied, dragging herself out of the tangle of blankets with a heavy sigh. She crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the plush crimson carpet, and stopped just behind Charlie. "I can feel your nerves from here. You're buzzing like a fly trapped in a jar."

Charlie let out a shaky laugh, her fingers playing with the hem of her silk nightgown. "It's just... everything," Charlie murmured, twisting the hem of her nightgown. She turned back to the window, her golden eyes distant as though searching the horizon for answers. "What if it's not enough?"

Vaggie frowned and reached out, placing her hands gently on Charlie's shoulders. Her wings folded neatly behind her, a calming presence that Charlie leaned into despite herself.

"Hey, look at me," Vaggie said, her voice firm but kind. Charlie turned reluctantly, her golden eyes wide and uncertain. "You rebuilt this place," Vaggie said firmly, squeezing Charlie's shoulders. "We've handled everything Hell's thrown at us. We'll handle this, too. Perfect isn't the goal—it's surviving the mess."

Charlie smiled faintly, her fingers brushing over Vaggie's hands. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not easy," Vaggie admitted, her lips quirking into a small smirk. "But we're in this together. Now, come on. The day's not going to wait for us, and you're too cute to stand here worrying yourself into knots."

Charlie laughed, a soft, musical sound that filled the room and momentarily eased the weight on her chest. "Okay, okay. Let's do this."

Vaggie pulled her into a quick, reassuring hug before gesturing toward the wardrobe on the far side of the room. "Get dressed. If nothing else, you'll look amazing when we knock their socks off."

Charlie glanced out the window one last time as Vaggie moved away. Below, the hotel seemed to gleam brighter in the crimson haze.

"All right, Hazbin Hotel," she whispered, a spark of determination flickering in her voice. "Let's see if you're ready for this, too."

Vaggie slipped on her house slippers, wings fluttering briefly as she adjusted her robe. She cast one last glance at Charlie, who was rifling through her wardrobe with the focus of someone preparing for battle.

"I'll grab you some coffee," Vaggie said softly, her voice cutting through Charlie's hum of indecision. "Strong enough to knock out the nerves. Be ready when I get back."

Charlie gave a distracted nod, pulling out a golden, celestial-inspired blazer that matched the hotel's aesthetic. "Thanks, Vags. You're the best!"

Vaggie smirked, rolling her eyes affectionately. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

She left the penthouse, the plush carpet underfoot giving way to polished, checkerboard tiles as she descended the grand spiral staircase. The air grew warmer as she moved closer to the lobby, and the distant hum of the hotel waking up became louder—muted voices, faint clinking from the kitchen, and a soft, jazzy tune drifting through the sound system.

The Hazbin Hotel was alive again, and it showed. The new lobby gleamed with its bold crimson-and-gold palette, reflecting Lucifer's impeccable taste (and equally large wallet). Vaggie had to admit, begrudgingly, that it looked incredible. Still, the new opulence couldn't hide the faint tension lingering in the air. She could feel it like static clinging to her wings.

Vaggie stepped into the lobby, her sharp magenta eye sweeping over the scene. Husk was behind the bar, already nursing what she could only assume was his first drink of the day. His wings ruffled as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath, ignoring the faint plink of a leaking tap.

"Morning, sunshine," Vaggie said dryly as she passed him.

Husk grunted, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Another day in paradise."

Angel Dust was sprawled dramatically across one of the velvet sofas near the front desk, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He waved at Vaggie with exaggerated flair, smoke curling around his perfectly manicured claws.

"Morning, dollface!" he called, blowing a heart-shaped smoke ring in her direction. "What brings you to our humble hellhole so early? Forgot to give Charlie her good-morning kiss?"

Vaggie shot him a glare that could strip paint off the walls. "Not in the mood, Angel."

"Yeesh, tough crowd." Angel held up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk on his face told her he wasn't remotely sorry.

Ignoring him, Vaggie made her way to the small coffee station tucked against one corner of the lobby. It was new, sleek, and overly complicated—something Alastor had insisted on installing "to create the illusion of luxury," whatever that meant.

Vaggie stared at the overly complicated coffee machine, her magenta eye narrowing at the glowing buttons. It was new, sleek, and unnecessarily pretentious—a far cry from the simple things she preferred.

"Just make something black and bitter," she muttered, jabbing at the touchscreen. The machine beeped, whirred, and then stalled, as if mocking her.

Before she could curse it further, a blur of red darted into her peripheral vision.

Oh! Coffee time!" Niffty squealed, appearing at Vaggie's side with a burst of energy. Her hands twitched toward the sleek coffee machine, but Vaggie swatted her away before she could touch it.

"Don't. Touch. Anything."

"I wasn't gonna mess with it!" Niffty pouted, bouncing on her toes. "I just wanted to—Ooooh, look at the buttons! They're so shiny! Do you think they clean themselves?"

Vaggie sighed. "Go clean something else, Niffty."

Niffty's eye lit up as she spotted a bug crawling by the base of the machine. "Bug!" she shrieked, pulling a knife from her apron and stabbing with horrifying precision. "Got it!"

Vaggie groaned as the coffee finally poured into the mug. "You're impossible."

Niffty grinned. "Thanks!" She darted away as quickly as she came, darting between Husk's legs as he cursed.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Charlie stepping out into the hallway. She adjusted the lapels of her tuxedo jacket, the usual crimson fabric now adorned with subtle golden flourishes that shimmered faintly under the warm lighting. Intricate embroidery in celestial patterns—stars, comets, and spirals—danced along the edges of her jacket, catching the light with every movement.

The outfit was still distinctly Charlie, with her black bowtie and suspenders intact, but the added details elevated the look, fitting for the grand re-opening of the hotel. Her long blonde hair, streaked with soft coral highlights, swayed gracefully behind her, tied into its usual low ponytail by two simple black ties. Her heeled white saddle shoes, polished to a mirror shine, clicked softly against the marble floor as she stepped out.

At the end of the hall, Vaggie was waiting for her, a steaming mug of coffee in hand.

"Morning," Vaggie said simply, holding out the mug as Charlie approached.

"Oh, thank you!" Charlie exclaimed, her golden eyes lighting up as she took the coffee with both hands. She brought it close, letting the warmth and aroma calm her nerves. "You're amazing. I mean it."

"I know," Vaggie quipped, smirking. She gave Charlie a quick once-over, her magenta eye lingering on the golden details of her jacket. "Looking fancy today, huh? You trying to outshine the hotel?"

Charlie laughed softly, revealing her sharp fangs. "It's a big day! I thought I should... I don't know, look the part." She glanced down at herself, brushing an invisible speck off her sleeve. "Too much?"

Vaggie shook her head. "It's perfect. You're perfect. Now go down there and dazzle them—before the coffee wears off."

Charlie smiled warmly, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to Vaggie's cheek. "Thanks, Vags. You always know what to say."

Vaggie rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint golden flush that crept onto her face. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get all sappy on me. I've got to finish getting dressed. See you down there."

Charlie nodded, holding the coffee securely as Vaggie disappeared down the hall toward their room.

With her coffee in hand, Charlie made her way to the top of the grand staircase, pausing to take in the view below. The lobby was bustling with new activity, a vivid blend of Hell's infernal charm and the hotel's newfound opulence. Crimson and gold gleamed everywhere, from the polished tiles to the ornate chandelier that sparkled with flickering hellfire light. Among the familiar faces of her staff, a new presence moved through the space—imps, dressed in crisp uniforms, hurried about performing last-minute tasks with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Clad in matching red-and-black bellhop outfits with gold trim and jaunty hats, the imps were a mix of nervous energy and begrudging professionalism. One imp balanced a precarious stack of suitcases as they teetered toward the front desk, their long, arrow-tipped tail swishing to maintain balance. Another polished the brass fixtures near the elevator, their small hands moving in quick, practiced circles.

Charlie leaned lightly against the golden railing at the top of the grand staircase, her golden-embroidered jacket catching the glow of the hotel's lavish lighting. Her bright golden eyes swept over the bustling lobby below, landing on Angel Dust, who was sprawled dramatically across one of the crimson sofas near the front desk.

Angel's long legs, clad in thigh-high grey heeled boots, draped over the armrest, while one of his lower hands absently flicked ash from his cigarette into a crystal ashtray. His fluffy white fur gleamed under the chandelier's glow, the light catching the soft pink accents scattered across his body—the striped patterns on his arms, the heart-shaped marking on his chest, and the smaller pink heart nestled at the back of his head.

His cerise pink eyes, mismatched sclera giving him an almost hypnotic gaze, locked onto Charlie as she waved cheerfully down at him.

"Morning, Angel!" she called, her voice bright and melodic.

Angel grinned wide, his sharp teeth gleaming, the single golden fang catching the light as he raised his cigarette in a mock toast. His top set of arms gestured theatrically, while one of his lower hands adjusted his perfectly pinned pink suit blazer, which hugged his chest in a way that exaggerated the fluffy mound of fur he so proudly flaunted.

"Well, well, if it isn't our queen of sunshine and sparkles," he quipped, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Lookin' fancy today, princess. What's the occasion? You finally gonna smite someone?"

Charlie laughed, the sound like a chime above the murmur of the lobby. "Every day's an occasion if you make it one, Angel! Try to behave yourself, okay?"

Angel's grin widened impossibly, and he placed a gloved hand—cerise pink, with delicate white cuffs—dramatically against his chest. "Babe, the fuck does behaving even mean down here? 'Cause I'm pretty sure sittin' on my fine ass and lookin' this good qualifies."

One of his lower hands, clad in white gloves, lazily flicked his cigarette again. "Though, if you want me to be really good, I'll need a better incentive than whatever lukewarm sludge Husk is passing off as coffee."

From behind the bar, Husk's gravelly voice grumbled, "You don't like it, drink fuckin' water, you ungrateful asshole."

"Hey, hey, don't get your tail in a twist!" Angel shot back with a grin, waving him off. "I'm just sayin', coffee this bad should be considered a fucking war crime."

Charlie shook her head, her smile widening as Angel gave her an exaggerated wink.\

Angel Dust's sharp laughter cut through the air as he watched one of the imps fumble with a particularly stubborn luggage cart. The tiny demon let out a string of frustrated curses, their voice high-pitched and squeaky as they kicked the cart in retaliation.

"Lucifer really went all out, huh?" Angel remarked, propping himself up on one set of cerise-gloved arms while twirling his cigarette with another. "Fancy-ass uniforms, little hats... What's next, a fuckin' unicycle parade?"

Charlie giggled softly. "They're here to help! With the re-opening, we needed more hands. And Lucifer—"

"—finally decided to do something useful for once?" Angel interjected, his golden fang glinting as he smirked. "Guess even the big guy gets tired of sittin' on his throne, huh?"

"Seriously, though, princess," Angel added, his voice softening just a touch. His lower hand adjusted the cuffs of his cerise pink gloves, their delicate trim glinting faintly. "You look good. Fancy. Like you're gonna knock 'em all dead—and not in the usual Hell way, either. Y'know, the stabby kind."

Charlie felt a light blush rise to her cheeks, and she waved her hand dismissively. "Thanks, Angel. That means a lot."

"Don't let it go to your head, though!" Angel called after her with a smirk, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray and sprawling even more across the sofa. "You're still gonna fuck it up at least once, right?"

Charlie shook her head, her smile unwavering. "Not this time, Angel. Today's going to be perfect. I can feel it!"

Nearby, an imp scurried past carrying a stack of fresh linens almost as tall as they were. "Coming through!" they squeaked, narrowly avoiding a collision with another imp who was balancing a tray of glasses.

The second imp let out an indignant huff, their crimson skin flushed even darker as they straightened their precarious load. "Watch it, you clumsy fuck! I swear, one more spill and I'm outta here!"

The first imp turned and stuck out their forked tongue. "Yeah, yeah. Tell it to management!"

"Bite me!"

"Gladly!"

Charlie watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and mild concern. "They'll settle in," she muttered to herself, sipping her coffee.

As if summoned by the very promise of disruption, the shadows beneath Angel's sofa began to writhe. Thin tendrils of darkness snaked outward, curling and creeping like spilled ink. The lobby's light seemed to dim slightly, the golden chandeliers flickering faintly as the shadows gathered in the center of the room.

Angel stopped mid-sentence, his cigarette pausing halfway to his lips as he glanced down. "Aw, fuck me. Guess who's making a dramatic entrance?"

The shadows twisted upward, forming a tall, slim figure clad in crimson and black. The unmistakable silhouette of Alastor took shape, his grin already wide and gleaming with sharp yellow teeth. His beige skin and bobbed, pinkish-red hair with black-tipped ends stood out starkly against the writhing black mass that dissolved into the floor beneath him. His ever-present grin widened as he observed the chaos unfolding among the imps.

"Well, well!" he exclaimed, his voice crackling with static like an old radio broadcast. "What a lively little circus you've brought in, my dear charming demon belle! Truly, nothing screams 'class' like an army of overeager imps scuttling about like ants."

Charlie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "They're doing their best, Alastor. Besides, every successful business needs a team. They're part of the family now!"

Alastor's grin sharpened, his crimson eyes glinting. "Family, you say? How... quaint. Let's hope this particular branch of the family tree doesn't collapse under the weight of their own incompetence."

One of the imps, overhearing, turned and shot Alastor a dirty look. "Hey, screw you, buddy!"

Alastor's laughter echoed across the lobby, crackling and distorted. "Oh, delightful! They've got spirit! This might be entertaining after all."

"And Angel Dust! How positively delightful to find you both engaging in your usual brand of sparkling repartee."

"Morning, Alastor!" Charlie called, beaming at him from the top of the stairs. "Perfect timing as always."

Alastor adjusted his dark-red monocle, the glass glinting as he turned his sharp, red-eyed gaze toward her. "Why, of course, my dear! After all, what kind of patron would I be if I didn't grace this fine establishment with my impeccable presence on such a momentous occasion?"

Angel rolled his mismatched eyes, propping his head up with one of his cerise-gloved hands. "Oh, here we go. Don't hurt yourself with all the bowing and scraping, Al. You might sprain something."

Alastor's grin widened impossibly, his thin black pupils narrowing as he turned to Angel. "Why, Angel Dust! Ever the ray of sunshine," Alastor crooned, his grin sharp. "Still as charming as a fox in a henhouse. Tell me, do you plan to spend the entire day lounging about like a lazy spider, or will you be gracing us with something resembling usefulness?"

Angel snorted, leaning back dramatically and kicking one of his long, heeled boots over the armrest. "If by 'usefulness' you mean lookin' hot and bein' fabulous, then yeah, I've got that shit covered."

Alastor let out a delighted laugh, his voice crackling with static as he clapped his gloved hands together. "Ah, truly, you are the epitome of wasted potential. How wonderfully entertaining!"

Charlie giggled behind her coffee mug, shaking her head at the exchange. "Come on, you two. Let's try to get through one day without tearing each other apart, okay?"

Alastor turned his gaze back to her, his grin softening just slightly into something almost genuine. "Ah, my dear Charlie, it wouldn't be Hell if we didn't make things interesting. But for you, I shall endeavor to behave—for now."

Alastor's cane tapped against the tiles as he stepped further into the lobby, his crimson pinstripe coat trailing behind him like a shadow. The sentient microphone crackled faintly, emitting soft snippets of old jazz tunes as he strolled toward the center of the room.

Charlie lingered a moment longer at the top of the stairs, her tailored blaze shimmered faintly in the flickering chandelier light. The banter below her was comforting in its familiarity, a small reminder of the odd family the hotel had become.

Charlie watched the imps as they hurried about, her smile softening. Despite the bickering and mishaps, they brought a sense of activity and life to the hotel that made it feel more complete. She adjusted her blazer, her nerves settling just slightly as she sipped her coffee.

"All right," she murmured to herself, the sounds of the bustling lobby filling the air around her. "Let's show everyone what this hotel can do."

She didn't hear Vaggie approach until the soft click of her girlfriend's heels announced her presence. Before Charlie could turn, she felt Vaggie's slender arms slide around her waist. Vaggie rested her chin on Charlie's shoulder, nuzzling into her with a quiet hum of affection.

"Hey," Vaggie murmured, her voice low and warm.

Charlie's smile widened as she leaned into the touch, her coral-streaked blonde hair brushing against Vaggie's cheek. "Hey yourself."

Together, they watched the scene below unfold. Near the bar, Alastor stood with his cane in hand, his predatory grin aimed squarely at Husk, who looked about two seconds away from snapping.

"Come now, Husk!" Alastor crooned, his voice lilting like an old-time radio broadcast. "Is this really the best service our esteemed guests can expect from you? Surely a barkeep of your experience can manage something more... sophisticated!"

Husk growled low in his throat, his feathers bristling as he slammed a glass down on the counter. "For the last time, fuck off, you creepy son of a—"

"Oh, do go on!" Alastor interrupted, leaning closer, his grin somehow stretching wider.

Across the room, Niffty watched the exchange with wide-eyed glee, clapping her tiny hands together as though she were witnessing the greatest show on Earth.

"Oooh, this is so exciting!" she chirped, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "Is he gonna hit him? Maybe Alastor'll eat him? Oh, that'd be messy, but I can clean it up!"

Charlie chuckled softly at the spectacle, though her smile wavered slightly as her nerves crept back in. Vaggie noticed immediately, tightening her hold around Charlie's waist.

"Hour till showtime," Vaggie reminded gently. "We should try to get you to eat something. You can't run the hotel on coffee alone."

Charlie winced, clutching her mug a little tighter. "I know. I just—an hour, Vaggie. That's... that's so soon!"

Vaggie stepped back slightly, turning Charlie toward her. She cupped Charlie's face with both hands, her magenta eye locking onto Charlie's golden ones. "You're ready. Everything's ready. All we have to do now is show everyone how amazing this place is."

Charlie tried to muster a confident smile, but it faltered as her gaze drifted toward the empty space near the far end of the lobby. "But... where's my dad? He said he'd be here."

Vaggie's jaw tightened slightly, but her voice remained calm. "He'll show up. Probably making a big dramatic entrance like always."

Charlie's fingers fidgeted around her mug, her black nails tapping against the porcelain. "Yeah... probably."

Husk's voice suddenly rose from the bar, his exasperation echoing across the room. "For the last time, Al, I'm not making you a fucking jambalaya! This is a bar, not a damn diner!"

Alastor let out a delighted laugh, his static-laden voice carrying easily to the top of the staircase. "Oh, dear Husk, such a shame! You're missing out on a wonderful opportunity to expand your culinary repertoire. Perhaps next time, hmm?"

Niffty, still watching from the sidelines, gasped and clutched her apron. "Oh! I could make jambalaya! Do you want me to make some, Al? I'd love to help!"

"Absolutely not," Husk snapped. "Knowin' your fucked up ass, it would have demon in it!"

"Perhaps later, my dear Niffty," Alastor replied smoothly, tipping his monocle toward her.

Charlie shook her head, a small laugh slipping out despite herself. "How do they even function together?"

"They don't," Vaggie replied dryly, resting her hands on her hips. "But somehow, it works."

Vaggie reached out, brushing a stray lock of Charlie's coral-streaked hair behind her ear. "Come on. Let's grab you a bite to eat before the event starts. You're going to knock it out of the park, Charlie. You always do."

Charlie took a deep breath, her smile softening. "Thanks, Vaggie. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd probably forget to eat and pass out onstage," Vaggie teased, taking Charlie's hand and guiding her toward the elevator.

As they moved away from the railing, the hum of the lobby carried on, chaotic and oddly comforting. Despite her nerves and the shadow of her father's absence, Charlie felt a flicker of determination spark to life in her chest.

"Okay," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone else. "Let's do this."

The clock on the wall chimed softly, its ornate hands inching closer to 8 AM. Downstairs, the lobby was buzzing with final preparations. Imps scurried back and forth, adjusting decorations, polishing the already gleaming floors, and arranging the ribbon at the entrance. Staff members hurriedly double-checked everything as guests began to trickle in, their murmurs of curiosity and anticipation filling the air.

Charlie stood in the penthouse suite near her phone, her coffee now forgotten on the small table by the couch. She smoothed the golden embroidery on her jacket, her fingers trembling slightly as her eyes flicked to the clock again.

"Ten minutes," she whispered to herself, her voice a mix of excitement and unease.

The soft chime of her phone snapped her out of her thoughts. With a relieved smile, she grabbed it, seeing her father's name glowing on the screen.

"Dad!" she said brightly, holding the phone close. "You're still coming, right? Everyone's almost ready, and the ribbon's perfect, and—"

Lucifer's voice cut her off, calm and collected but with a distant edge that made Charlie's heart sink.

"Ah, my little star," he began, his voice as smooth as ever. "Unfortunately, I won't be able to make it this morning. Something's come up."

Charlie froze, the smile slipping from her face as her grip tightened on the phone. "What? But you said—Dad, you promised. This is huge. It's the re-opening of the hotel! You helped make this possible!"

There was a pause on the other end, and for a fleeting moment, Charlie thought he might reconsider.

"I know," Lucifer finally said, his tone softening slightly. "But some things are... unavoidable. I'm sorry, Charlie. You'll do wonderfully, as you always do. Really Charlie. I'm so proud of you."

Before Charlie could respond, the line went dead. She stared at the phone in her hand, her golden eyes wide and glistening as her reflection shimmered faintly on the dark screen.

Behind her, Vaggie stepped out of the bedroom, now fully dressed in a sharp, dark suit with subtle magenta accents. She paused when she saw Charlie's expression and moved closer, her brow furrowing.

"What happened?" Vaggie asked, resting a hand gently on Charlie's arm.

Charlie lowered the phone slowly, her voice trembling despite the forced brightness in her tone. "He's not coming. He... he said something came up."

Vaggie's magenta eye darkened, and her jaw tightened. "Of course he did. Typical Lucifer."

"Don't," Charlie whispered, shaking her head. "It's fine. I can do this without him. It's not about him—it's about the hotel, about everyone down there."

"Charlie..." Vaggie began, her voice softening, but Charlie shook her head again and straightened her posture, her fingers smoothing her blazer as she forced a smile.

"I'm fine," Charlie said firmly, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. "We're going to cut that ribbon, and it's going to be perfect."

Vaggie hesitated, then nodded, stepping closer to pull Charlie into a gentle hug. "You're stronger than he'll ever give you credit for, you know that?"

Charlie's smile faltered, but she hugged Vaggie back, clinging to her warmth for just a moment before stepping away.

The elevator doors slid open to the lively hum of the lobby. Laughter, chatter, and the faint strains of jazz music drifted through the air. Charlie stepped out, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Her usual bright smile returned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, as she took in the bustling scene below.

At the bar, Angel Dust was already on his second martini—far too early in the morning, but entirely unsurprising. His laughter rang out as Husk grumbled something unintelligible, his feathers bristling as he wiped the counter. Niffty flitted around like a whirlwind, her cheery greetings punctuated by obsessive adjustments to ribbons and decorations that were already perfect.

Near the grand ribbon at the entrance, Alastor stood tall, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floor. His ever-present grin widened as he spotted Charlie, the crimson glow of his monocle flashing in the light.

"Ah, our belle of the ball has arrived!" Alastor announced, his voice crackling like a vintage radio broadcast. "How splendid! And here I thought you might be taking fashionably late to a whole new level—like your illustrious father."

Charlie's smile faltered for just a moment, but she quickly smoothed it out, brushing past the comment as though she hadn't heard it. "Thanks, Al," she said brightly, clasping her hands in front of her. "Everything looks perfect. You've all done such an amazing job."

Alastor tilted his head, his predatory grin stretching impossibly wider. "Why, of course, my dear! What's the point of existing if not to put on a show?"

Charlie nodded politely, her golden eyes scanning the room as she moved to the ribbon. She could feel the weight of his gaze lingering, but she kept her focus ahead.

As the clock ticked to 7:58, the imps scurried into their final positions. A small crowd had gathered near the ribbon, murmuring in anticipation. The golden scissors gleamed in Charlie's hands as she stood at the front, Vaggie by her side.

"You've got this," Vaggie whispered, her voice steady and reassuring.

Charlie took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the scissors. The emptiness left by her father's absence weighed heavier than the scissors in her hands. She exhaled slowly, willing her hands to steady as the golden scissors gleamed in her grip.

But as she looked out at the faces of her staff, her guests, and the people who had put their faith in her dream, the doubt began to lift.

"We're ready," she whispered, the words meant as much for herself as for the crowd. Her smile grew a little steadier, her resolve strengthening as the room quieted in anticipation.

As the clock struck 8 AM, a sharp chime resonated through the air, signaling the start of the grand re-opening. The massive double doors of the Hazbin Hotel swung open with a flourish, revealing the crowd gathered outside.

Charlie stepped forward, her golden-embroidered jacket catching the light as she squinted into the street. Her eyes widened in awe. There had to be hundreds of demons, stretching far beyond the hotel's ornate entryway and spilling into the main thoroughfare. The vibrant, chaotic energy of Hell buzzed through the crowd, their voices a cacophony of cheers, laughter, and murmured conversations.

"Oh, wow," Charlie whispered, clutching the scissors tightly as her golden eyes swept over the crowd. Her breath hitched, a mix of awe and unease tightening her chest. "Do you see this?" she asked, barely louder than a whisper. "They came. They really came."

Vaggie smiled softly, though her magenta eye scanned the crowd with caution. "Yeah, they came. Let's hope they're here for the right reasons."

Charlie stepped to the edge of the grand entrance, lifting her arms in a welcoming gesture. Her voice, warm and melodic, carried over the noise.

"Welcome, everyone, to the grand re-opening of the Hazbin Hotel!" she announced, her smile bright and hopeful. "Thank you all so much for coming today. This hotel represents a new beginning, a place where demons can—"

"Hey!" a loud voice from the crowd interrupted, cutting through Charlie's speech like a blade. "You the one who killed those angels last month?"

The crowd stirred, murmurs growing louder as other voices joined in:

"Yeah, was that you? How'd you do it?"
"Where can I get one of those weapons?"
"Are they planning another attack?"

Charlie faltered, her grip tightening on the scissors as the sea of faces blurred together—watchful, expectant, and sharp. A prickling tension crept up her spine, anchoring her in place. She noticed for the first time that many of them weren't looking at the hotel itself but at her, their expressions a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and something darker—anger.

"Um, well," Charlie stammered, her fingers tightening on the scissors. She took a small step back, glancing at Vaggie, whose stance had shifted to something more protective.

"This isn't about the angels," Charlie said quickly, trying to steer the conversation back to the hotel. "This is about building something better, a place for redemption—"

"Redemption?" another demon scoffed, their voice sharp and mocking. "We don't need redemption! We need revenge! Those angels think they can come down here and wipe us out, and you're just... opening a hotel?"

Charlie's chest tightened as the crowd's tone grew more aggressive, their voices overlapping in a chaotic roar.

From beside the ribbon, Alastor's cane tapped against the floor, the vintage microphone crackling faintly as his grin stretched impossibly wide.

"Ah, what a lively bunch we have here today!" Alastor's voice boomed, cutting through the noise with an eerie, static-laden clarity. "Truly, nothing says grand re-opening like a crowd of restless souls clamoring for vengeance. Delightful, isn't it?"

The crowd quieted slightly, their attention shifting to the Radio Demon as he stepped forward. His crimson monocle glinted as he swept a mockingly courteous bow.

"But do pardon our dear princess," Alastor continued, his grin sharpening. "She's rather busy being the savior of Hell, you see. Isn't that right, my dear?" He turned to Charlie, his eyes gleaming with something that could have been amusement—or a warning.

Charlie swallowed hard, straightening her posture as she forced a bright smile. "Thank you, Alastor," she said quickly, her voice regaining a measure of steadiness. She turned back to the crowd, her golden eyes scanning the sea of faces.

"I understand your frustrations," Charlie said, her tone softening but staying firm. "But this hotel isn't about fighting angels or getting revenge. It's about proving we can be better than what they think we are. That we can rise above this."

The crowd murmured, their energy still crackling with unease. Some nodded thoughtfully, while others crossed their arms, their skepticism etched into their faces.

"Better than what they think we are?" one demon muttered. "We're fucking demons, lady. They'll never think we're anything but scum."

Charlie felt a pang of sadness at the words but held her ground. "Then let's show them they're wrong."

Beside her, Vaggie placed a reassuring hand on Charlie's arm, her magenta eye darting over the crowd. "Careful," she whispered. "They're not all here for redemption, Charlie."

"I know," Charlie murmured back, her smile faltering slightly before she steadied herself again.

Among the crowd, a small voice rose up, timid but clear. "I... I think it's a good idea."

The words, quiet but clear, silenced the crowd. Heads turned toward the speaker—a young demon standing near the back, her glowing teal eyes steady as she stepped forward. Cracks of light ran across her arms and cheeks like molten veins, sparking faintly with each step.

"Maybe she's right," the demon continued, her voice growing stronger. "Maybe we can be better. Isn't it worth a shot?"

Charlie exhaled, a small, hopeful smile breaking through her nerves as she met the demon's gaze.

"Thank you," Charlie said softly, her voice carrying over the hush. She took a deep breath, her smile growing steadier as she turned back to address the crowd.

"We're here to prove it's possible," she declared, her voice filled with warmth and resolve. "This hotel is the first step. Thank you for coming, and I hope you'll give it a chance."

With a flourish, Charlie lifted the golden scissors and snipped the ribbon. The soft sound echoed in the quiet, and the hotel doors swung fully open, inviting the crowd inside. Applause broke out, mingled with murmurs of skepticism and a few cheers of genuine excitement.

The young demon lingered at the edge of the steps, watching as others began to file in, their curiosity overcoming their doubts. Charlie turned to Vaggie, who gave her a reassuring nod before glancing toward the hesitant figure.

"Hey," Vaggie said quietly, nudging Charlie. "Looks like someone's actually interested in what you're selling."

Charlie followed Vaggie's gaze and spotted the young demon, who hesitated on the steps as if unsure whether to cross the threshold. Without thinking, Charlie stepped forward, her warm smile returning as she reached out a hand.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel," she said gently. "I'm Charlie. What's your name?"

The demon blinked, surprised at being singled out, but quickly recovered. "Amara," she replied, her voice soft but steady.

"Amara," Charlie repeated, her smile widening. "I'm so glad you're here."

Amara glanced back at the crowd behind her, then at the open doors in front of her. Finally, she stepped forward, her ember-like wings flickering faintly as she clasped Charlie's hand. "Thanks. I... I think I need this."

Charlie's heart swelled, and for the first time that morning, her nerves gave way to genuine hope. "You're in the right place," she said warmly. "Go on in, there's plenty of help waiting just inside."

Charlie stood at the hotel's grand entrance, her golden eyes scanning the slowly dispersing crowd with a practiced smile. The energy from the ribbon-cutting lingered in the air, but something else prickled at her senses—a faint unease she couldn't place.

For just a moment, her gaze drifted across the street, where the burnt-out remains of an old theater loomed in the crimson haze of Hell's sky. Atop the cracked facade, a lone figure stood silhouetted against the glow, their form unnaturally still.

Charlie's brows furrowed, the edges of her smile faltering. The figure didn't move, nor did they seem interested in joining the throng of demons lingering near the hotel doors. She held their gaze—or tried to—but the sunlight glinting off their outline forced her to look away.

"Charlie?" Vaggie's voice broke through her thoughts, grounding her.

Charlie blinked, shaking her head with a faint laugh. "Sorry. Got lost in my head for a second." She gestured toward the crowd. "Ready to head inside?"

As they turned to enter the lobby, the figure shifted just slightly, the faintest shimmer of golden light catching their outline before they disappeared into the haze.