The lobby of the hotel was unusually quiet, the usual hum of activity dulled into a lazy afternoon haze. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting soft, warm rays onto the polished floor. Charlie was sprawled out on one of the velvet couches, her legs dangling over the armrest in a way that would've made Lilith scold her for "sitting like a heathen."

Emily sat nearby, floating just enough to hover in midair, her halo gleaming faintly above her head. She looked relaxed, her arms crossed behind her head, occasionally adjusting the angle of her halo with a flick of her finger to give Charlie a better shot.

"Alright," Charlie muttered, crumpling another piece of paper into a tight little ball. "This one's going in. No question."

She squinted with faux seriousness, sticking out her tongue slightly as she aimed. With a dramatic flick of her wrist, she launched the paper ball through the air—perfect arc, nothing but net. It passed cleanly through Emily's halo, landing softly on the floor.

"BOOM!" Charlie shouted, pumping her fist. "Three-pointer!"

Emily chuckled, giving her an exaggerated slow clap. "Wow. Truly the pinnacle of athletic achievement, Princess. Someone alert the press."

Charlie grinned and reached for another piece of paper, clearly not planning to stop anytime soon—until the front doors swung open with a faint creak.

Vaggie strode in, her expression unreadable, but what caught Charlie's attention immediately was the awkward pile of envelopes she carried, clutched tightly against her chest. There had to be at least two dozen of them, all thick, sealed with elaborate wax stamps, and addressed to—

"These are all for you," Vaggie said flatly, walking straight toward the front desk.

Charlie sat up, her playful grin fading into something more curious. "What the—? Who even sends letters anymore?"

Emily floated down, peering over Charlie's shoulder with equal interest.

Vaggie didn't respond right away. She simply reached the counter, dumped the stack of ornate letters onto it with a dramatic thud, and crossed her arms.

"They've been piling up all morning."

Charlie hesitated for a moment, staring at the pile of envelopes as if they might bite her. Each one was sealed with ornate wax stamps bearing the insignias of various noble houses—some she vaguely recognized, others completely foreign. The handwriting on each was immaculate, looping with the kind of flourish that screamed "I think I'm important."

Vaggie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her expression hovering somewhere between amused and annoyed. "Go on. Open one. See what the royal fan club wants."

Emily floated down beside Charlie, resting her chin on her shoulder like an eager kid peeking at a birthday present. "I'm betting at least two of them are marriage proposals. Maybe three."

Charlie groaned but snatched the top envelope anyway, breaking the crimson wax seal with a dramatic sigh. She unfolded the thick parchment, her golden eyes scanning the contents.

To Her Radiant Highness, Princess Charlotte Morningstar,It would be an unparalleled honor to secure an audience with you to discuss the prospect of an alliance between our houses. Given your recent... engagements, I believe we could form a mutually beneficial arrangement, perhaps over dinner at your convenience.Warmest regards,Lord Xelvor of House Gralthis

Charlie blinked. "Okay, well, not a marriage proposal, but definitely feels like someone trying to kiss my ass." She dropped the letter onto the counter like it burned her fingers.

Emily reached for the next envelope, grinning. "Let's see if we can beat that."

The second letter was even worse.

Dearest Princess Morningstar,Your recent political endeavors have not gone unnoticed. I believe a partnership between our houses could greatly enhance both our standings. Might I suggest a formal meeting to discuss terms—and perhaps personal compatibility, should such matters align?Eternally yours,Lord Belthran of the Northern Spires

Emily snorted. "'Personal compatibility'? Oh yeah, that's Goetia-speak for 'can I marry you and steal your power.'"

Charlie groaned louder, rubbing her temples. "Why is everyone suddenly trying to date me? I'm not collecting a harem, I swear."

Vaggie arched an eyebrow. "Ahem." She didn't have to say it out loud—Octavia.

"That was an accident!" Charlie protested, her face flushing bright red.

Emily grinned, flipping open another letter. "The universe disagrees."

By the time they'd opened the rest, the pattern was clear: alliances, strategic partnerships, thinly veiled romantic proposals—all from various Goetia houses, each more pompous than the last.

Charlie finally slumped over the counter, burying her face in her arms. "I hate politics."

Vaggie patted her back, not unkindly. "Welcome to the family business."

Emily grinned wickedly. "You know what this means, right?"

Charlie groaned into her arms. "What?"

Emily leaned in closer. "You're officially Hell's most eligible bachelorette."

Charlie let out a muffled scream into the countertop.

Charlie lifted her head slowly, her cheek still imprinted with the faint pattern of the countertop. Her golden eyes shifted between Vaggie and Emily, both of whom had transitioned from teasing to serious in record time. Vaggie's expression was sharp and focused, her arms crossed as she leaned slightly over the pile of letters, while Emily tucked her legs underneath her, her usual grin replaced by a thoughtful frown.

Vaggie tapped one of the unopened envelopes with a finger. "Listen, babe. I know it's annoying—and yeah, half of these are probably power-hungry jackasses trying to latch onto the Morningstar name. But… there could be something useful here."

Emily nodded, resting her chin in her hand as she flicked through one of the less pretentious letters. "Yeah. Look past the 'dearest princess' garbage. This is Hell. Alliances matter. A few strategic relationships could make all the difference for the hotel—and for you."

Charlie sighed, sitting up straighter and reluctantly pulling one of the letters closer. "I just… hate how fake it all feels. Like, none of these people care about me. They care about what I am."

Vaggie softened, reaching over to squeeze Charlie's hand. "I know. But you're not building friendships here—you're building security. For the hotel. For the people who rely on you. Hell, for us."

Emily leaned back, stretching lazily. "And besides, wouldn't it be fun to make these pompous nobles dance for what they want for a change?"

Charlie huffed a small laugh at that, her tension easing just a bit. "You're both insufferably smart, you know that?"

Vaggie smirked. "It took you long enough."

Charlie picked up a letter sealed with an obnoxiously large wax emblem shaped like a screaming imp. She cracked it open, skimmed the first few lines, and immediately groaned.

"Dear Princess Morningstar,I humbly offer my allegiance, my undying devotion, and also, my son's hand in marriage. He is a strapping young demon, with only minimal curses upon him, and I assure you, the plague is mostly cleared up."

Charlie didn't even finish reading before tossing it into the "burn on sight" pile. "Nope. Not marrying someone with 'mostly cleared up plague.'"

Emily cackled. "I mean, maybe it's just a little plague. Character building."

Vaggie snorted and grabbed another letter, her eyebrow arching as she read aloud, "To the illustrious Princess Morningstar: I seek to form an alliance by merging our bloodlines—literally. I have attached a vial of my own blood so you may sample its potency."

She held up the small, ominous vial taped to the letter.

Charlie recoiled. "Absolutely not. That's cursed blood if I've ever seen it."

Emily flicked it into the burn pile with a disgusted face. "We're one summoning circle away from waking up with extra limbs if we keep that."

Then there was the letter sealed in glittery pink wax with way too many heart stickers.

Charlie opened it hesitantly and blinked. "Oh. This one's just… a really aggressive marriage proposal. No alliance, just… 'marry me and we'll figure it out.'"

Emily leaned over to peek and burst out laughing. "Is that written in crayon?"

Vaggie squinted. "And is that… a stick figure drawing of you with demon wings?"

Charlie sighed and shoved it into the flames. "If I wanted unsolicited marriage proposals, I'd post on Lustinder."

The pile slowly dwindled as they continued, the burn pile growing steadily with cursed, cringey, or downright horrifying proposals. But at least they had fun setting them on metaphorical (and occasionally literal) fire.

Charlie leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples as the last letter fluttered onto the rejection pile.

"Twenty-seven letters," she muttered, glancing at the piles. "And apparently, Hell's hottest trend is trying to marry me."

Emily stretched with a dramatic yawn. "To be fair, you are a catch. Powerful princess, radiant smile, Goetia fiancée—what's not to love?"

Vaggie shot her a look but couldn't hide the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, well, they can catch these hands if they keep sending proposals."

Charlie chuckled, glancing at the neatly stacked pile of six promising alliances—potential deals that didn't require marriage, blood vials, or cursed family heirlooms. They actually had reasonable offers—trade agreements, security partnerships, and even a few diplomatic overtures that could help the hotel expand its influence.

Then there was the burn pile, still faintly smoldering in the fireplace. The cursed blood vial had hissed ominously when it hit the flames, and Emily swore she saw a tiny face screaming in the smoke. "Honestly, that one might haunt us later," she'd said casually, tossing in another letter about soul-merging rituals.

The rejected pile was the largest—sixteen letters, most offering alliances sealed with marriage proposals, some with laughably bad terms. One even included a dowry of "three demon goats and a slightly used portal key."

Charlie sighed, feeling both exhausted and oddly accomplished. "Well, at least we've got six good ones."

Vaggie nodded, standing up to stretch. "It's a start. Strong alliances mean more protection for the hotel. We can't afford to ignore that."

Emily grinned, leaning back with her arms behind her head. "Plus, no new fiancées. So, I'd call that a win."

Charlie groaned, tossing a crumpled paper ball at her, but she couldn't help laughing. "No more fiancées. That's the goal."

Emily caught the paper, smug as ever. "Yeah, well, give it a week. Hell's persistent."

Charlie flipped through the stack of promising letters, her brow furrowed as she scanned the details. Most of them were minor pledges—empty gestures wrapped in fancy words. A few nobles offered vague alliances, promises of "eternal friendship" in exchange for little more than the occasional favor or an invite to future events at the hotel. One even suggested an alliance based on shared gardening tips, which earned an eye-roll from Vaggie and a snort from Emily.

But one letter stood out—its seal marked with an intricate star-shaped emblem. Charlie's eyes narrowed as she broke the wax and unfolded the parchment.

"Vassago," she murmured, the name stirring a faint memory. "I remember him from a Goetia event… years ago. Some stuffy gala my mom dragged me to."

Emily perked up. "Was he one of the good ones?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. He was one of the few who didn't treat me like I was just 'Lucifer's kid.' Actually had real conversations."

She scanned the letter, the elegant handwriting precise and formal.

To Her Highness, Princess Charlotte Morningstar,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and better company than most of our aristocratic peers provide.

Word travels quickly in our circles, and I must say, I was delighted to hear of your recent… arrangement with young Octavia. Stolas was most forthcoming with the details, and I must commend you—few would be so willing to assist in such a delicate matter. It speaks to your character, and I have always valued those who act with integrity rather than mere ambition.

That, dear princess, brings me to my reason for writing.

House Vassago has long stood for fairness and order, two things that are in regrettably short supply among the Goetia. The political landscape is shifting, and with it, the necessity of strong alliances. I believe that you and I share more than a few common values, and I would like to formally propose a mutually beneficial friendship between our houses.

In practical terms, this would entail the following:

Diplomatic Collaboration – Regular meetings to discuss political affairs, particularly regarding Goetia reform and broader Hellish governance.

Mutual Defense – Should House Morningstar require support against undue aggression, you will have an ally willing to stand at your side. Likewise, I would expect the same consideration should House Vassago face unjust opposition.

Neutral Ground – Your Hotel has already gained a reputation as a place where impossible things become possible. I would request the occasional use of your establishment as a neutral site for negotiations, away from the more prying eyes of the courts.

These are, of course, the broad strokes of an agreement that would no doubt require further discussion. If such a proposal intrigues you, I would be honored to meet at your convenience to discuss the finer details.

I suspect you will find me far less of a headache than some of the other noble houses you've been forced to entertain as of late.

With respect and anticipation,Vassago, Prince of the Goetia

Vaggie leaned over, reading the letter over Charlie's shoulder. "This… isn't bad. It's actually one of the more reasonable offers."

Emily nodded. "Yeah, and no 'accidental engagements' required. Bonus points for that."

Charlie chuckled softly but didn't take her eyes off the letter. "He's smart. Knows how to play the game without looking like he's playing it."

Vaggie tapped the parchment thoughtfully. "It could be a good move. Having an ally like him would give us leverage—especially if things with the other Goetia get messy."

Emily grinned. "And if he turns out to be a jerk, we'll just 'accidentally' lose his next letter in the incinerator."

Charlie glanced at the stack of letters one last time, then made a decision. "Hey, how about we go for a walk? Clear our heads, get some fresh… Hell air."

Vaggie looked up from her spot on the couch, her expression skeptical. "A walk? Now?"

"Yeah," Charlie replied a little too quickly, shooting a brief look at Emily, who nodded subtly in response.

Just as Vaggie began to rise, KeeKee—seemingly out of nowhere—practically pounced onto her lap, curling up into a perfect, purring loaf. Vaggie froze, glancing down at the tiny demon cat whose single eye blinked slowly, the universal feline signal for you're trapped now.

"Oh, come on," Vaggie groaned, trying to shift KeeKee gently. But the little creature let out a content, vibrating purr and snuggled deeper, making herself impossibly heavy—as cats do when they sense someone wants to move.

Charlie tried to hide her grin. "Looks like KeeKee made her choice."

Vaggie squinted suspiciously. "Since when does she nap on me?"

Emily, keeping a perfectly straight face, shrugged. "Cats are unpredictable. Must be your… cuddly aura."

Vaggie sighed dramatically but gave in, leaning back against the couch. "Fine. You two go without me. I'll just… be a prisoner of the fluff here." KeeKee slowly turned her singular, unblinking eye toward Charlie, giving her a long, deliberate stare. Maybe it was a blink. Maybe a wink. Hard to tell with only one eye.

Charlie and Emily exchanged triumphant glances before heading outside. The cool air hit Charlie's face, doing little to calm her racing heart. They walked in silence for a few moments until they reached the garden courtyard, the faint glow of Hell's crimson sky casting long shadows.

Charlie stopped, taking a deep breath. "Okay, that went smoother than I thought."

Emily chuckled. "I told you. KeeKee's a professional. So… you ready?"

Charlie nodded, her fingers tightening around the small box hidden in her jacket pocket. "I think so. I've been thinking about this for weeks, and I just—" She exhaled shakily. "I want it to be perfect."

Emily smiled softly, placing a reassuring hand on Charlie's shoulder. "It will be. Because it's you. And because it's Vaggie. You've got this."

Charlie nodded again, her nerves buzzing with anticipation and excitement. It was almost time. The start of forever. "Alright Emily.. You know the plan!"

Emily practically bounces with excitement as she re-enters the hotel, her grin wide and unrelenting. KeeKee, perched regally on Vaggie's lap, lets out a silent, judgmental glare as Emily approaches.

"Oh, outta the way, you glorified dust bunny," Emily says with a playful wave of her hand. KeeKee doesn't even flinch—just narrows her singular, unamused eye before sauntering off with slow, deliberate steps, tail flicking in dignified annoyance.

Emily claps her hands together, her grin somehow growing even wider. "Alright, lovebird, on your feet!"

Vaggie raises an eyebrow, not moving an inch. "Emily, what the hell are you—"

Before she can finish, Emily grabs her by the arm, tugging insistently. "Nope! No questions. Not today." She's practically vibrating with excitement, her wings flickering with bursts of light. "It's a surprise. Major surprise. Huge."

Vaggie scowls, trying to dig her heels into the polished floor as Emily drags her toward the lobby. "I don't like surprises."

"Yeah, yeah, and I don't like decaf, but here we are!" Emily cackles, clearly enjoying every second of Vaggie's struggle.

Vaggie twists in Emily's grip, attempting to plant herself like an immovable object. "Seriously, Emily, what the hell—"

With an exaggerated sigh, Emily snaps her fingers. A swirling golden portal opens with a soft whoosh, right in front of them. "Less talking, more walking!"

Vaggie's eye narrows into a dangerous slit. "I swear, if this is some dumb prank—"

But Emily's already had enough of the back-and-forth. With surprising strength, she half-carries, half-shoves Vaggie through the portal, her laughter echoing behind them.

On the other side, Vaggie stumbles slightly, catching her balance with a grunt as the portal snaps shut behind them. She straightens up, brushing herself off, already bristling with irritation.

Then she pauses.

They're standing in a dim alleyway. The walls are cracked and covered in faded graffiti, layers of paint peeling like forgotten memories. A flickering neon sign buzzes faintly overhead, casting long, crooked shadows that stretch across the uneven pavement. The faint scent of burnt ozone mingles with the more familiar city grime.

Vaggie's brow furrows. She slowly turns in place, her gaze darting around. The chipped bricks, the rusted fire escape, the faint scorch mark near a battered dumpster—there's something… familiar.

Her steps are cautious as she approaches the old, dented dumpster, her boots crunching softly against gravel and broken glass. She feels it before she fully realizes it—like a phantom ache, sharp and distant.

A flicker of pain blooms near her temple, the ghost of something long gone but never really forgotten.

Then her eye lands on it.

A small, pink scrap of paper, taped crookedly to the side of the dumpster. The handwriting is loopy, swirly, filled with a kind of over-the-top optimism that Vaggie would recognize anywhere.

"Where it all started."

Vaggie's breath catches in her throat. She stares at the words, her heart thudding against her ribs. The alley isn't just an alley anymore. It's the alley. The one burned into her memory—not because of what happened, but because of who happened next.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing the edge of the note, the paper soft against the calloused pads of her fingertips.

Behind her, Emily's usual sarcasm is absent. Her voice, when she speaks, is soft. "Yeah… figured you'd recognize it."

Vaggie doesn't respond. She can't.

She's too busy standing in the place where everything broke—and where, just moments later, someone put the pieces back together.

Memories slam into her—
The sharp pain. The overwhelming fear. The feeling of blood trickling down her face as she'd stumbled, vision blurring, her pride shattered more than her body. She remembers the anger, the desperation to survive… and then—

Her.

Charlie's face. Bright, warm, and so painfully kind in a place that Vaggie believed had no kindness. Reaching out a hand when no one else would. Smiling like she wasn't covered in blood. Like Vaggie wasn't broken.

Vaggie blinks hard, forcing the ghost of that old pain away, and steps closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the pink note.

"Emily," she whispers, her voice a little hoarse, "what is this?"

But Emily doesn't answer.

Instead, there's a soft glow—a faint, familiar golden shimmer—and a trail of golden light leading out of the alleyway, just around the corner.

Vaggie follows the glowing trail cautiously, her heart pounding, a swirl of confusion and anticipation tangling in her chest. Emily stays a step behind, unusually quiet, her mischievous grin replaced by something softer, more knowing.

They round the corner, the cool shadows of the alley giving way to the flickering light of the portal as Emily snaps her fingers. The golden edges ripple like liquid sunlight, casting long, wavering reflections against the cracked brick walls. Emily doesn't say a word—just tilts her head toward the glowing doorway, her grin softening into something warmer, less teasing.

Vaggie narrows her eye slightly, her instincts prickling again. "Another surprise?" she mutters, her voice rougher than she means it to be. But there's no bite behind the words, just a thin layer of nerves wrapped tight around her chest.

Without waiting for an answer, she steps through.

The world shifts.

She emerges into a space steeped in warmth and shadows, the faint hum of ambient music threading softly through the air. The rich scent of spices curls around her—cinnamon, clove, and something darker beneath, like burnt sugar and faint smoke. It's a scent she knows well, one she never forgot.

Infernal Delicacies.

The lights are dim, casting pools of golden amber across the polished floor. The usual buzz of chatter, clinking glasses, and soft laughter is gone, replaced by a heavy silence that feels intimate rather than empty. The restaurant is closed—just for her, she realizes with a faint jolt—but the flicker of candles still burns low on a single table tucked near the back.

Their table.

Vaggie's breath hitches.

It's exactly as she remembers—the small, slightly chipped table nestled against the cracked red brick wall, the candlelight dancing lazily in the dimness. But there's something new. A small pink note, folded neatly, rests beside a centerpiece of dark, wilting Hellblooms. The flower's edges are frayed, its color faded, but it holds a stubborn kind of beauty, refusing to lose its charm even as it withers.

Her steps slow as she approaches, the weight in her chest growing heavier—not the suffocating kind, but something warmer, tighter. Like her heart knows something her mind hasn't caught up to yet.

She reaches for the note with hands that tremble just enough to betray her. The handwriting is unmistakable—loopy, messy, full of too much heart to be neat.

"Where I realized it was more than friendship." Below the words there's a simple, lopsided cartoon sketch of Vaggie—complete with her signature scowl, crossed arms, and an exaggerated eye-roll. An arrow points to the lava cakes with the word "Enjoy!" scrawled next to it in bold, playful letters.

As Vaggie gently sets the note down, something else catches her eye—a small, covered dish nestled beside the flickering candle. The faintest curl of steam escapes from under the lid, carrying a rich, chocolaty aroma that makes her chest tighten all over again. Vaggie snorts softly, despite the lump rising in her throat.

She sets the note down carefully, fingers brushing against the warm ceramic as she lifts the cover.

Lava cakes.

Her favorite.

The molten center oozes slightly from a small crack in one of them, the rich, dark chocolate gleaming under the candlelight like liquid velvet. A tiny sprinkle of powdered sugar clings to the surface, dusted with a touch more care than finesse—clearly Charlie's handiwork.

Of course Charlie remembered. Of course she'd go through all this trouble—not just for some grand gesture, but for the little details too. The things no one else would think mattered.

She sits down without thinking, her fingers lingering on the edge of the plate as the warmth seeps into her skin. The first bite melts on her tongue, rich and bittersweet, but it's not the chocolate that makes her chest ache.

It's everything else.

Emily doesn't say a word as she slides into the seat across from Vaggie, her eyes glinting with mischief but tempered by something warmer.

Vaggie arches a brow, pointing her fork accusingly. "Okay, spill. What is all this?"

Emily simply shrugs, lips pressed together in an exaggerated show of restraint. She gestures dramatically to her mouth, then mimes zipping it shut, locking it, and tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder with flair.

Vaggie huffs, her frustration thinly veiled beneath the amusement threatening to tug at the corner of her mouth. "Seriously? You're choosing now to have self-control?"

Emily nods solemnly, biting into her lava cake with the smugness of someone entirely too pleased with themselves.

Vaggie narrows her eye, considering her options, then tries again. "Is this Charlie's idea?"

Emily's only response is a slow, exaggerated blink and another bite of cake, chewing thoughtfully as if it holds the answers Vaggie's looking for.

Vaggie groans, slumping back in her chair, glaring at Emily with all the intensity she can muster—which, frankly, just makes Emily grin wider.

"Fine," Vaggie mutters, stabbing her fork into the remaining lava cake. "Be mysterious. But I swear, if this is some elaborate prank, I'm throwing you into the next portal headfirst."

Emily responds by raising her fork in a mock salute, her eyes dancing with silent laughter.

And despite herself, Vaggie feels the tension in her chest loosen just a little as they share the rest of the lava cakes in comfortable, conspiratorial silence.

Vaggie's eye trails down to the note, re-reading the words once again. The words are simple, but they hit like a freight train. Her breath stutters, her fingers brushing the ink as if the letters could bleed warmth into her skin.

She folds the note closed again, pressing it flat against her chest, right over the place where her heart feels too big for her ribs. She holds it there for a long, fragile second, her eye closing briefly as if that simple gesture can hold back the tide swelling inside her.

Across from her, Emily stays quiet—blessedly, mercifully quiet—giving Vaggie this moment.

Because this isn't just a memory.

It's a map. A trail.

And Vaggie has no idea where it's leading next.

As they finish the last bite of dessert, Emily sets her fork down with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin like she's just completed a gourmet feast. Then, with a mischievous glint in her glowing blue eyes, she rolls her hand in a familiar, practiced gesture.

A portal flickers open across the room, golden light spilling out like a silent invitation, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls of Infernal Delicacies. Its edges ripple softly, as if the very fabric of reality is holding its breath.

Emily rises from her seat and steps beside Vaggie, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her grin is wide, bright, but it holds something softer beneath the mischief—an affection that needs no words.

"You didn't think that was the grand finale, did you?" she teases gently, her voice low but filled with excitement.

Vaggie groans softly, rolling her eye with practiced exasperation, but there's no real heat behind it. Her heart is racing faster than she wants to admit, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. She doesn't argue. She's already on her feet, her legs carrying her forward as if they've made the decision before her mind could catch up.

She steps through the portal—and the world shifts around her.

She's standing on the front steps of the Hazbin Hotel. The neon sign above glows softly in the night, casting its familiar, flickering pink hue across the dark street. The façade is the same as always, but tonight… tonight it feels different. Warmer. Softer. Like the building itself is watching, waiting—holding its breath along with her.

The cool night air brushes against her skin, carrying with it faint traces of sulfur, ash, and something sweeter—almost like burnt caramel mixed with the distant scent of wildflowers. The chaotic sounds of Pentagram City feel muted here, as if the noise knows not to intrude.

Her gaze drifts to the handrail beside the entrance, where a small pink note flutters gently, taped with careless precision. She approaches slowly, her heart thudding like a drum against her ribs, louder than it should be.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing the familiar, loopy handwriting.

"Where you helped me start my dream."

The words are simple. But they hit harder than she expects. Like a gut punch wrapped in silk.

Vaggie swallows the lump forming in her throat, her thumb grazing over the swirls of ink like it's fragile, like the memory itself might fade if she presses too hard. She remembers that day—the day they opened the hotel together. The hazy morning light filtering through cracked windows, casting long shadows across dusty floors that smelled faintly of mildew and old ash. The building had been nothing more than a crumbling relic, walls scarred with graffiti, chipped plaster, and the echoes of forgotten chaos. But to Charlie, it was a canvas.

Charlie's boundless optimism had filled every corner, brighter than the weak sun outside. Her voice had been alive with excitement, each word spilling out like music, woven with hope and stitched together by dreams bigger than the space could hold. She'd talked about redemption like it was something you could touch, like it was real, even here in Hell. Second chances, fresh starts—concepts that felt like fairy tales in a place designed for the broken and the damned.

Vaggie remembers watching her, arms crossed, her eye sharp and skeptical. She'd leaned against a cracked doorframe, chewing the inside of her cheek, thinking this will never work. The world didn't care about hope. Not here. Not in Hell. The streets outside the hotel were stained with proof of that—blood, violence, betrayal etched into the city's bones.

But then Charlie had turned to her, those golden eyes burning like twin suns, alight with a vision only she could see. She didn't see the broken walls or the ruined city. She saw possibility. She saw a future.

And in that moment, Vaggie felt it too—not the dream itself, but something else. Something stronger.

Vaggie had been skeptical. Cynical. The idea seemed ridiculous then. A hotel for redemption? A place to rehabilitate sinners?

Ridiculous.

But she'd stayed.

Not because she believed in the hotel. Not because she believed in redemption.

She'd stayed because she believed in Charlie.

Because even if Hell couldn't be saved, maybe—just maybe—Charlie could save her.

And that had been enough.

Before she can get lost in the memory, another portal shimmers to life just a few steps ahead, its glow reflecting off the polished windows of the hotel. It hums softly, pulsing like a heartbeat, waiting.

Vaggie glances back over her shoulder.

Emily leans casually against the hotel's doorway, arms crossed, her grin now softer—genuine in a way that cuts through Vaggie's defenses. No teasing. No snark.

Vaggie narrows her eye. "No snarky comment this time?"

Emily just winks, her voice softer now, carrying a weight of emotion tucked beneath the grin. "You'll thank me later."

Rolling her eye but unable to suppress the tug at her lips, Vaggie steps through the portal.

The moment she emerges, the familiar weight of the Heaven's courtroom settles over her like a distant echo—heavy, oppressive, but different this time. The vaulted ceilings stretch endlessly above, adorned with intricate, ethereal golden patterns that shift subtly, like constellations moving at the edge of her vision. The vastness of it all makes her feel small again, but not in the same crushing way as before. Now it feels like standing under an ancient sky, vast and indifferent, yet somehow intimate.

Soft beams of celestial light filter through stained glass windows high above, fractured into hues of blues and golds that spill across the polished marble floor. The colors ripple faintly, as though stirred by an unseen breeze, casting reflections that dance along the pristine white walls. The divine energy that once felt suffocating now hums like a faint heartbeat, a quiet reminder of a battle fought—not with fists, but with faith, conviction, and love.

The space is eerily quiet. No murmuring crowd. No judgmental glares from angelic faces perched in the balconies. Just silence, save for the faint echo of her footsteps as she moves forward. Each step carries weight—not the weight of judgment this time, but of memories.

She approaches the small table near the center of the room, the same one where she'd once sat beside Charlie. She can still feel the ghost of her clenched fists against the polished surface, the phantom ache in her chest from that day. Her heart had been a battlefield—anger and fear warring inside her while celestial beings decided the hotel's fate like it was nothing more than a name on parchment. She remembers Sera's piercing gaze from the judge's box, as sharp as any blade, dissecting them, finding the hotel wanting. The sting of being measured, judged, found lacking.

But none of that had mattered.

Because Charlie had been there.

Charlie's hand had found hers beneath the table, warm and steady, grounding her like an anchor in a storm. She'd squeezed Vaggie's fingers with quiet defiance, a simple gesture that screamed louder than any argument she'd made that day.

Vaggie stops at the table now, her eye catching the soft pink slip of paper resting neatly in the center. No divine scrolls. No decrees. Just a note. Simple. Human, almost.

She reaches for it, her fingers trembling slightly as she unfolds it.

The handwriting is unmistakable—loopy, swirling letters she's seen a thousand times, etched into notes, love letters, scribbled reminders. But this feels different. Heavy in its simplicity.

"Where I realized even in our worst moments, I still choose you."

The words hit harder than she expects. Her chest tightens, and for a moment, she feels the sting of tears threatening to rise. She presses her thumb gently over the ink, as if she can feel Charlie's heartbeat through the paper.

She thinks about that day—not the fear, not the judgment, but the choice. Charlie's choice. And her own. Through every fight, every mistake, every scar—they had chosen each other. Even when Charlie found out about her angelic past, she still choose her.

Not just in the good times, but in the moments that felt impossible.

Vaggie folds the note carefully, tucking it into the inside pocket of her jacket like it's something sacred. And maybe it is.

She doesn't say anything as she steps back, but her heart speaks loud enough. She bites her lip to keep it from trembling, but a tear slips free anyway, tracing a hot path down her cheek.

Behind her, Emily stands quietly, her usual snark absent, replaced by a soft, knowing smile.

"She's really bad at subtlety, huh?" Vaggie croaks, her voice thick.

Emily chuckles gently. "Yeah, but she's got heart."

Another portal shimmers to life at the center of the courtroom, its golden light spilling across the floor like dawn breaking after a long night.

Vaggie wipes her face roughly with the sleeve of her jacket, pocketing the note. She doesn't hesitate this time.

She steps through.

The portal ripples behind Vaggie as she steps onto the rooftop of the Hazbin Hotel. The cool evening air greets her, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and distant city smoke. The sky is brushed in hues of deep purple and soft amber, the sky kissing the horizon in its final farewell for the day.

Dozens of enchanted lanterns float lazily in the twilight, their warm, golden glow dancing like fireflies. Some drift gently on invisible currents, while others hang suspended in the air as if held by threads of starlight. Their light reflects off the wild rooftop garden—a beautiful, chaotic tangle of vibrant flowers, overgrown vines, and untamed patches of greenery. The garden is raw, unmanicured, alive in a way that feels both intentional and free.

But none of it compares to her.

Charlie stands at the center of the rooftop, bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns. Her pale skin almost luminous against the twilight, her golden eyes reflecting the lights like twin stars. She's dressed simply, her fiery hair cascading over her shoulders, but she outshines everything around her. The chaotic beauty of the rooftop, the wildflowers, the sky itself—none of it holds a candle to the way Charlie looks at her.

As Vaggie steps forward, she feels Emily quietly float back, giving them space without a word. The absence is almost unnoticed because all of Vaggie's focus narrows down to Charlie.

Charlie's eyes soften as she steps closer, her hands clasped nervously in front of her, betraying just a flicker of the usual confidence she wears like armor.

"I know this probably looks like some big, dramatic thing," Charlie starts, her voice soft, carried easily in the quiet space between them. She lets out a breath, her smile both tender and filled with something deeper—something heavier. "And, well, it kind of is."

Vaggie's brow quirks slightly, but she doesn't interrupt. She feels her heart thudding, steady and strong, beneath her ribs.

Charlie continues, her golden eyes never leaving Vaggie's. "I've been thinking a lot lately… about us. About everything we've been through. The chaos, the fights, the victories, the quiet mornings, and the late nights where we talked until we fell asleep mid-sentence." Her smile grows softer, more wistful. "I cherish every single memory we've made. Even the messy ones. Especially the messy ones."

Vaggie swallows, her throat suddenly tight, her heart racing for reasons she can't quite name.

Charlie gestures to the blanket spread out nearby, a simple picnic setup surrounded by wildflowers and glowing lanterns. "I thought maybe we could just… have a quiet evening. Just us. No politics. No disasters. Just…" She pauses, her voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "You and me."

Vaggie steps forward slowly, her heart still thundering in her chest. It feels like something more, like the weight of unspoken words is hovering between them—but maybe it's just her own racing thoughts.

She sits down beside Charlie on the blanket, the lanterns flickering softly above them.

The soft glow from the lanterns casts flickering shadows across the rooftop as Charlie carefully uncovers the dinner she's prepared—simple, but clearly made with love. There are small containers of neatly arranged dishes: roasted vegetables, fresh bread still warm to the touch, and a fragrant pasta dish that fills the space with the comforting aroma of herbs and garlic. Vaggie blinks, momentarily surprised.

"You cooked?" she asks, arching a brow with a teasing edge, though her voice is softer than usual.

Charlie's cheeks flush a delicate pink. "I mean… yes? Kind of. I had some help from the kitchen downstairs, but I swear I did most of it!" She laughs nervously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I just wanted it to be something I made for you."

Vaggie's heart gives a little stutter, but she hides it with a small smirk. "Well, it smells amazing."

They eat together, the easy rhythm of their conversation filling the space like a familiar song. The gentle clink of forks against plates mingles with the soft hum of distant city sounds, though up here on the rooftop, it feels like they're in a world all their own. The enchanted lanterns float lazily above them, casting soft, golden light that flickers against Charlie's face, making her golden eyes seem to glow even brighter.

Charlie leans back on her elbows, staring up at the softly glowing lanterns overhead. "Did I ever tell you about the time KeeKee stole one of my dad's favorite pens?"

Vaggie snorts, already sensing where this is going. "Your dad has favorite pens?"

"Oh, absolutely. He's dramatic about everything, why not pens?" Charlie grins, her eyes sparkling in the lantern light. "So, he's sitting in his office, flipping through papers, looking all regal and terrifying, right? And KeeKee—this tiny, judgmental furball—just strolls up, hops on the desk, and casually bats his pen right off the edge. Lucifer freezes mid-sentence like someone pressed pause. I swear, he stared at her for a solid minute, and then… he started lecturing her."

Vaggie laughs, nearly choking on a bite of roasted vegetables. "He lectured the cat?"

"For an hour!" Charlie throws her hands up. "Pacing back and forth like, 'This pen was a gift from Beelzebub herself, you wretched little gremlin!' KeeKee just sat there, flicking her tail, completely unbothered. Didn't blink. I'm pretty sure she won that argument."

Vaggie wipes her mouth, still chuckling. "Of course she did. Your dad may rule Hell, but cats rule everything else."

Charlie's smile stretches wide, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes Vaggie's heart skip a beat.

Between bites of food, the stories keep flowing, easy and natural.

"You ever notice how often Emily floats upside down when she's thinking?" Charlie adds, laughing softly.

Vaggie chuckles, stabbing a roasted carrot with her fork. "Oh, totally. It's like her brain works better when all the blood rushes to her head or something."

Charlie grins, shaking her head. "One time, I caught her mid-air, just hovering above the lobby, spinning in slow circles like some kind of weird, angelic ceiling fan."

Vaggie snorts, nearly choking on her bite. "What was she thinking about?"

"Oh, the most serious topic," Charlie says dramatically, setting her fork down to gesture with both hands. "Whether pineapple belongs on pizza."

Vaggie wipes tears from the corner of her eye, the warmth in her chest growing with every shared memory. She leans back slightly, her eye growing distant, lost in a memory. "You know… I still think about that night in the garden."

Charlie tilts her head, her smile softening. "The one with the storm?"

Vaggie nods. "Yeah. It was pouring. Everyone had gone inside, but you dragged me out into the rain like it was some magical event we couldn't miss."

Charlie's grin widens. "It was magical! The lightning was hitting just right, and the whole sky looked like it was breathing."

Vaggie chuckles, shaking her head. "I thought you were completely insane. But you were so determined, pulling me by the hand, twirling me around in the mud like we were dancing in some enchanted ballroom."

Charlie's eyes sparkle with the memory. "You were grumpy the whole time."

"At first," Vaggie corrects, her voice soft. "But then… I remember looking at you. Soaked to the bone, laughing like the world didn't matter. And I just… forgot to be annoyed."

Charlie's breath catches slightly, her smile fading into something more tender.

"That was the moment I realized," Vaggie whispers, her thumb brushing over Charlie's knuckles. "I was already in love with you."

Charlie's eyes shimmer, her heart swelling as she squeezes Vaggie's hand. "I think… I knew it then, too."

They sit in that quiet space for a moment, the memory settling between them like an old friend, wrapped in the warmth of their laughter and the ache of something beautiful.

The food dwindles, the plates pushed aside as they lean back against the soft blanket, shoulders brushing lightly. The conversation slows, shifting from laughter to softer, quieter topics—memories of when they first met, the early days of the hotel, the little milestones they've shared. Charlie talks about how scared she was to open the hotel, how Vaggie's unwavering support was the thing that kept her grounded.

The conversation slows, shifting from laughter to softer, quieter topics—memories of when they first met, the early days of the hotel, the little milestones they've shared. The lanterns above flicker gently, casting golden halos around them, as if the night itself is leaning in to listen.

Charlie picks at a stray crumb on the blanket, her smile soft but tinged with something more fragile. "You know… I was terrified when we opened the hotel."

Vaggie's brow furrows slightly. "You never seemed scared."

Charlie lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "I was. Completely. I put on that big, optimistic smile because that's what I thought everyone needed from me. But inside? I was convinced it would all fall apart." She pauses, her eyes growing distant, reflecting the faint glow of the lanterns. "I kept thinking—What if this is a mistake? What if I'm not enough?"

Vaggie's hand reaches out instinctively, covering Charlie's. "You were never a mistake."

Charlie's gaze flickers to her, warmth blooming behind her golden irises. "I know that now. But back then… the only thing that kept me grounded was you." Her fingers tighten slightly around Vaggie's, anchoring herself in the moment. "Your voice when you'd tell me it was going to be okay. The way you'd stand beside me, even when you thought my ideas were ridiculous."

"They weren't ridiculous," Vaggie mutters softly, though her eye glints with amusement. "Okay, some of them were. Like the time you wanted to install a cotton candy machine in the lobby 'for ambiance.'"

Charlie laughs, the sound light and easy. "It would have been great ambiance!"

Vaggie rolls her eye but smiles, brushing her thumb over Charlie's knuckles. "Maybe. But even if the hotel had collapsed on day one, I still would've been there. Because I wasn't just supporting the hotel, Charlie." Her voice lowers, raw and sincere. "I was supporting you."

Charlie's breath catches, her heart swelling against her ribs. She swallows, blinking quickly. "I don't think I'd be here without you."

Vaggie leans in, their foreheads touching gently, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "You would've found your way. You're stronger than you know."

They sit like that for a long moment, the weight of unspoken words settled comfortably between them, stitched together with the quiet hum of the city below and the soft flicker of lantern light above.

It's perfect in a way that makes Vaggie's chest ache, though she's not entirely sure why. Or maybe she is.

It feels like standing on the edge of something—something big, something life-changing—and for a moment, Vaggie's not sure if she's ready to fall.

Then, just as Vaggie takes a sip from her glass, she hears it—a soft, melodic tune drifting into the air.

Her eye flicks upward, scanning the rooftop, and that's when she sees her.

Emily floats forward with all the grace of someone who knows exactly what she's doing. She's cradling a small Bluetooth speaker in her hands, her grin wide and mischievous as she gently places it down near the edge of the blanket.

"Thought you needed some ambiance," Emily says, winking dramatically.

The speaker hums to life, a soft, slow song filling the space—something tender and sweet, with a gentle rhythm that seems to sync perfectly with the lanterns' glow.

Vaggie narrows her eye slightly, her instincts kicking in. Something's up.

Charlie clears her throat softly, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket. "Um… Emily, you're kind of ruining the vibe."

"Oh, am I?" Emily's grin grows wider, but she floats backward, her hands raised in mock surrender. "Don't mind me. Just… adding a little sparkle."

Vaggie watches her retreat with suspicion, but when she turns back to Charlie, her breath catches.

Charlie's no longer nervously picking at the blanket. Instead, she's shifted slightly, her golden eyes locked onto Vaggie with a depth that sends a ripple through the air between them. Her hands reach out, gently taking Vaggie's.

The music swells just a little, as if the universe itself is holding its breath.

Vaggie's heart starts to race again.

This isn't just a date.

Charlie's hands are warm, her fingers threading through Vaggie's with a tenderness that makes Vaggie's chest tighten. The lanterns seem to glow a little brighter, casting soft halos of light around them, but Vaggie can't tear her gaze away from Charlie's face.

Charlie takes a shaky breath, her usual bubbly confidence giving way to something raw and vulnerable. "I've been trying to find the perfect words for this," she starts softly, her voice steady despite the emotion brimming just beneath the surface. "But nothing ever felt good enough. Because how do you put into words what it feels like to love someone so much it changes the way you see everything?"

Vaggie's throat feels tight, her eye stinging slightly, but she doesn't look away. She can't.

Charlie's smile wobbles just a little, but her grip on Vaggie's hands tightens with purpose. "You were there when I was just a girl with a dream and too much optimism. You saw me when I didn't even know who I really was—and you stayed. Through everything. The fights, the failures, the chaos… you stayed."

Charlie shifts onto her knees, her wings slightly flaring behind her, catching the lantern light like a cascade of stars. From her pocket, she pulls out a small, delicate box—simple, but unmistakable.

Vaggie's breath hitches.

Charlie opens the box, revealing a ring unlike any other—a band crafted from intertwined metals, red and silver twisted together like threads of light and shadow, with a small, brilliant gem nestled at the center, glowing faintly as if it holds a spark of Charlie's own heart.

Charlie's golden eyes shine with tears, but her smile is radiant, unwavering despite the quiver in her voice. "Vaggie… You are my anchor when I'm lost, my fire when I falter, and the love of my life. Will you marry me?"

The words hang in the air, fragile and powerful all at once—like a delicate thread stretched taut between them.

Vaggie's heart slams against her ribs, so loud she swears Charlie must hear it. For a moment, the world tilts, her vision blurring—not from the tears welling in her magenta eye, but from the weight of everything crashing over her all at once. Her breath catches in her throat, ragged and unsteady. She's faced down threats, battled demons, stared death in the face without flinching.

But this? This undoes her completely.

Her mouth opens, but no words come out. Just a shaky exhale as her chest tightens with emotions she's spent a lifetime trying to keep neatly locked away. Love. Fear. Overwhelming, suffocating joy. Her hands tremble, fingers twitching like they don't know whether to reach for Charlie or cover her face to hide the tears spilling over.

And then she moves—sudden, uncoordinated, raw. She crashes into Charlie with the force of a wave breaking against the shore, sending them both tumbling back onto the blanket. She clutches Charlie like a lifeline, her face buried in the curve of her neck, hot tears soaking into golden hair.

"Yes," Vaggie chokes out, her voice breaking on the word, raw and trembling with laughter and sobs all tangled together. She pulls back just enough to meet Charlie's teary gaze, her face flushed, streaked with tears she doesn't bother to hide. "Yes, you absolute dork. Of course, yes."

Her laughter bubbles up next—wild and breathless, like it's been trapped under her ribs for years. Charlie's own laughter follows, bright and full of relief, mixing with Vaggie's in a messy, beautiful chorus. She wraps her arms around Vaggie, holding her like she's afraid to let go, but Vaggie grips tighter, fingers curled into the fabric of Charlie's jacket as if to say you're not getting rid of me that easily.

"I love you so much Charlie.." Vaggie whispers into her neck.

"I love you, Mrs. future Morningstar." Charlie says, testing the name, with a broad smile.

Vaggie wipes a stray tear from her cheek, sniffling softly before bumping her shoulder against Charlie's with a small, knowing grin. She tilts her head toward Emily, who's still floating overhead, twirling in midair and cheering like they'd just won the championship of the century.

Charlie chuckles, her heart still racing from the proposal, but Vaggie leans in, her voice low and tender. "Now's as good a time as any…"

Charlie blinks, her smile faltering slightly as realization dawns. "You mean… the commitment ceremony?"

Vaggie nods, her eye softening with warmth. "Yeah. Why wait? We're here, it's perfect, and—" she glances back at Emily, who's still blissfully unaware of their hushed conversation, "—I want to share everything with you. And with her."

Charlie's breath catches in her throat. She'd assumed Vaggie would want that moment just for the two of them, something private and personal. But here she was, saying she wanted to make it even bigger—more meaningful—because it included Emily.

"You really want to?" Charlie whispers, her voice trembling with emotion.

Vaggie squeezes her hand, her smile gentle. "She's part of us. This is our life. I don't want to save special moments—I want to live them with both of you."

Charlie's heart swells so much it feels like it might burst. She doesn't get a chance to respond before Emily, finally noticing the shift in their expressions, swoops down with a flourish, landing in front of them with an exaggerated gasp.

"Wait—what's going on? What are you whispering about? Is this—" Emily's eyes widen dramatically, her hands flying to her chest. "Oh my God, are you proposing to me too?!"

Charlie bursts into laughter, tears spilling over as she shakes her head. "No, no! I mean-Yes! Well, no, Not exactly!"

Emily narrows her eyes suspiciously, glancing between them as Vaggie tries to stifle her own laugh. "Not exactly?! What does that mean?!"

Charlie reaches for Emily's hands, her smile radiant through her tears. "Just sit down. We've got something to ask you."

Emily's eyes dart between them, her curiosity growing, but she plops down on the blanket without hesitation, leaning in as if they were about to share the universe's biggest secret.

And in a way, they were.

Charlie takes a deep breath, her fingers still intertwined with Vaggie's as she looks at Emily with soft, teary eyes. "Emily… we love you."

Emily blinks, her suspicious squint deepening as she leans back slightly. "I love you too…" she says slowly, drawing out the words like they're walking into some kind of trap.

Vaggie chuckles under her breath and leans in, her voice warm but sincere. "No, really. We love you, Emily."

Emily's eyes narrow further, her lips pressing into a thin line as if trying to read between invisible lines. "Okay. Love you guys too. But what's going on? This feels suspiciously heartfelt."

Charlie laughs nervously, brushing a stray tear off her cheek. "Okay, yeah, you're not wrong. So, um… I was talking to my mom the other day, you know, about everything—our relationship, the engagement, just… life."

Emily raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still wary.

"And I told her," Charlie continues, her voice softening, "that I've been worried. Worried that maybe… I was making you feel left out somehow. That with all the Engagment stuff, maybe it felt like Vaggie and I were leaving you behind."

Emily's face softens a bit, her suspicious glare fading into something more curious, her head tilting slightly. "I already told you that wasn't something to worry about Charlie.."

Charlie takes another deep breath, her hands tightening around Emily's. "I know. I know you did.. But, My mom—being my mom—suggested something. A way to show you that we're not just thinking about you, but that you're part of this. Part of us."

Emily blinks, her mouth slightly open now, her guard starting to drop.

Vaggie squeezes Charlie's hand gently, picking up where she left off. "So… we wanted to ask if you'd be part of a commitment ceremony. With us."

Emily's eyes widen, her jaw dropping slightly. "Wait… what?"

Charlie rushes to clarify, her words tumbling out quickly. "Not like a proposal or anything... Not yet—just a ceremony. To show how much you mean to us. To celebrate what we have, because it's real and it's special. You're not some third wheel. You're family. You're ours."

Emily just stares at them for a long, silent moment. Then her face crumples, tears welling up in her eyes as a bright, shaky laugh escapes her. "You two are such idiots."

Charlie blinks, her heart stopping for half a second. "Uh… is that a yes?"

Emily laughs harder, wiping at her eyes as she nods. "Of course, it's a yes, you morons. I love you both so much it's disgusting."

Charlie and Vaggie both burst into laughter, pulling Emily into a tight, messy group hug, their tears and laughter blending together under the soft glow of the lanterns above.

Emily pulls back from the hug for just a second, her grin stretched impossibly wide. Then, without warning, she rockets straight into the sky with a joyful scream that echoes across the rooftops.

"YES! OH MY GOD, YES!" she yells, doing an impromptu flip mid-air, spinning in ecstatic circles like a firework just waiting to explode. "I'M GETTING COMMITTED, BABY!"

Charlie and Vaggie collapse into laughter below, watching Emily swirl through the sky, her wings catching the lantern light like streaks of gold and silver.

Vaggie wipes a tear from her eye, shaking her head fondly. "She's going to terrify the entire city."

Charlie giggles, resting her head on Vaggie's shoulder. "Let her. She's ours." She closes her eyes, just basking in Vaggies hug.

Charlie shoots up suddenly, nearly knocking Vaggie over in the process. Her eyes are wide with sudden realization, and she scrambles to her feet with the grace of an over-caffeinated deer.

"Oh shit, almost forgot!" she exclaims, fumbling with her hands like she's trying to catch an invisible thought.

Before Vaggie can ask what's going on, Charlie throws one hand into the air, her fingers sparking with golden light. A single, thin trail of fire shoots straight into the sky, disappearing into the dark above.

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then— BOOM.

A brilliant green firework explodes high above, casting emerald light across the rooftops of Hell. It's dazzling, sharp, and loud enough to send a few distant imps screaming in surprise. But that's just the beginning.

There's silence… for all of 10 seconds and then it's as if the entire sky responds to that single spark. Fireworks erupt in rapid succession—crimson, sapphire, gold, violet—filling the heavens with a chaotic, breathtaking display. The night roars with color, each explosion louder than the last, reflecting off the glass windows of nearby buildings, turning the whole world into a kaleidoscope of light.

Emily, who'd been pirouetting above the rooftop, squawks in surprise. "OH SHIT!" she yelps, flailing dramatically as she dives back to the ground, nearly tripping over the picnic blanket. She lands with a huff, brushing stray sparks from her halo.

"Man," Emily laughs breathlessly, squinting up at the sky with wide eyes, "Lucifer wasn't kidding when he said he'd handle the fireworks. Did he stockpile the entire Kingdom's supply or what?!"

Charlie grins, her face glowing in the flickering lights, and flops back down onto the blanket beside Vaggie, still slightly breathless from excitement.

"Well, I did tell him it was for something important," Charlie says, nudging Vaggie gently with her shoulder. "And you know Dad—subtlety isn't really his thing."

Vaggie snorts, rolling her eye as she leans into Charlie's side. "No kidding. I think he just declared war on the sky."

The sky above them is a riot of colors—brilliant greens, fiery reds, shimmering blues, and dazzling golds bursting like wildflowers against the dark canvas of Hell's eternal night. The echoes of each explosion roll across the city like distant thunder, mingling with the faint cheers and shouts of demons far below.

Charlie sighs contentedly and flops back onto the picnic blanket, her head landing softly against Vaggie's lap. Vaggie smirks, shaking her head but instinctively running her fingers through Charlie's golden hair, her touch gentle despite the faint teasing glint in her eye. Charlie hums under the attention, her eyelids fluttering half-closed.

Emily plops down dramatically beside them, sprawling out like a starfish, her halo slightly askew. She lets out a theatrical groan of relief. "Okay, new rule: no more emotional ambushes followed by fireworks. My heart can't handle it."

Charlie snickers, her hand reaching out blindly to grab Emily's and pull her closer. Emily shifts easily, curling against Charlie's side until they're all tangled together—a mess of limbs, warmth, and quiet affection. Vaggie leans back slightly, resting her weight on one arm, her other hand never stopping its lazy motion through Charlie's hair.

For a long moment, none of them speak. They just exist—together—under a sky ablaze with light. The noise feels distant compared to the soft rhythm of their breathing, the steady beat of hearts pressed close.

Charlie breaks the silence with a sleepy murmur. "This… this is perfect."

Emily snorts softly. "Yeah, minus the whole 'almost gave me a heart attack' part."

Vaggie chuckles low in her throat, her fingers pausing to gently tug at a stray curl. "You're such a drama queen."

Emily gasps, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. "Me? I am a graceful embodiment of celestial elegance, thank you very much."

Charlie's laughter is soft and warm, like the glow of the fireworks reflecting off her eyes. "Yeah, sure, Sunbeam. Whatever you say."

Vaggie rolls her eye but smiles, her gaze softening as she looks down at the woman who's been the light in her darkest days. She leans forward slightly, pressing a kiss to Charlie's forehead—a silent I love you wrapped in warmth and familiarity.

Emily sighs dramatically again. "Ugh. Gross. Love. Disgusting." But she doesn't pull away—instead, she snuggles closer, her grin betraying her playful words.

The fireworks continue above them, but they're no longer the main event. The true spectacle is here, on this rooftop, woven between whispered jokes, soft laughter, and the unspoken bond of three hearts stitched together by fate, chaos, and relentless, undeniable love.

Angel Dust's head slowly peeks around the rooftop doorframe, his pink curls a dead giveaway even before his sly grin stretches ear to ear. His eyes gleam with mischief as he steps back dramatically, raising one leg like he's about to perform a Broadway number.

With a sudden BAM, he kicks the door open with enough flair to rival a parade float. "SURPRISE, LOVE DOVES!" he hollers, arms thrown wide like he's conducting an invisible orchestra.

The moment the door swings open, it's like someone pulled the cork on a shaken soda bottle. The entire hotel— Alastor, Husk, Nifty, Sera, Cherri, Gorrik, Elira, Amara and Nyssa—bursts onto the rooftop like a tidal wave of chaos. They're carrying confetti poppers, makeshift flags scribbled with "CONGRATS," and someone (probably Niffty) has managed to wheel out a suspiciously large cake.

"CONGRATULATIONS!" the chorus erupts, voices overlapping in chaotic harmony as confetti rains down like hell's version of glittery ash.

Charlie's jaw drops. She spins in place, her wings flaring slightly in pure shock. "What—HOW did you—?"

Angel Dust saunters over, flicking a stray piece of confetti off her shoulder with dramatic flair. "Oh, I dunno," he drawls, pretending to inspect his nails. "Could've been the fact that someone mutters in her sleep and has been taking frequent cat naps on the lobby couch.. Seems all those late night "Extra Curricular's" are catching up to her!"

Vaggie blinks, glancing at Charlie. "Wait, seriously?"

Angel snickers, his grin stretching ear to ear as he leans against the rooftop railing, twirling one of his fuzzy pink fingers dramatically. "Oh yeah, you've got major sleep-muttering issues, babe. Full-on monologues. 'Oh, Vaggie, my darling light, how will I ever survive without thee?'" He flutters his lashes, clutching his chest with exaggerated flair, his voice going high and breathy like some tragic romance heroine.

Emily bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. She points at Charlie, her grin wicked. "THEE?! Did you really say thee?"

Charlie groans so hard it sounds like her soul's trying to escape, slapping both hands over her flaming-red face. "I DO NOT SAY THEE! That's—that's not even—UGH!"

From the back, Alastor adjusts his tie with a dark chuckle, his grin sharp as ever. "Oh, but you do, actually. Quite poetic, really. Almost Shakespearean. I could record it next time if you'd like a dramatic reenactment."

Before Charlie can recover, Angel Dust produces a stack of colorful notebooks from seemingly nowhere, holding them just out of her reach with a gleeful cackle. "Oh, and would you look at what I found? Mrs. Rainbow here has been leaving these little gems all over the place."

Charlie lunges for the notebooks with a desperate squeak. "ANGEL, NO—"

But he's already flipping one open with theatrical flair. "Proposal Ideas," he reads dramatically, then gasps. "Did you know she was thinking about a—wait for it—skywriting proposal! Like, literal flaming letters in the sky. 'Marry me, Vaggie,' spelled out with actual hellfire. Oh, and get this—she wanted to orchestrate it with a choir of singing imps for background ambiance."

Emily is gone, collapsing back into the blanket with laughter, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Vaggie tries to hold back, but her smirk breaks free like a dam bursting, and soon she's giggling too, shaking her head in disbelief.

She leans over, nudging Charlie's shoulder gently. "Well, I guess I'm marrying a poet. I already knew you were dramatic, but.. Wow babe."

Charlie groans louder, flopping backward onto the blanket in pure defeat. "I hate all of you."

Angel slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug while ruffling her hair affectionately. "Nah, you love us. Even in your sleep, apparently."

Emily, still giggling, wipes a tear from her cheek and adds, "Yeah, and thee love us too, don't forget."

Charlie lets out a muffled groan into the blanket, but her smile peeks through, soft and undeniable.

Sera floats over with the grace of someone who's watched everything from a distance, quietly observing, but now can't help but be drawn in. She lands softly beside Emily, her wings folding neatly behind her, and tilts her head slightly, studying Emily with that rare, soft smile she rarely shows.

"So…" Sera begins, her voice low and even, but with a warmth that makes Emily's chest tighten. "You're really all in on this, huh?"

Emily blinks, caught off guard for a second, then lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah. Guess I am." She glances at Charlie and Vaggie, their hands still loosely entwined, faces glowing with the soft lantern light. "It kinda snuck up on me."

Sera's smile deepens, just a little, enough to make her eyes crinkle at the corners. "I'm glad they make you happy, Em."

Emily turns back to her, heart skipping unexpectedly. There's something different in Sera's voice—not just observation, but genuine, heartfelt pride. It's not the kind of thing Emily's used to hearing from her, and it makes her throat tighten.

"They do," Emily says quietly, her voice softening, honest and raw. "They really do."

Sera's gaze lingers for a beat longer, her expression thoughtful but content. She reaches out, resting a gentle hand on Emily's shoulder—not the formal kind of touch angels are known for, but something real, grounding. "Then that's all that matters," Sera says simply, like it's the easiest truth in the world.

Emily swallows around the sudden lump in her throat, nodding. "Yeah. I guess it is."

Charlie watches the exchange with quiet warmth, her heart full, while Vaggie just gives a small smile, nudging Emily's foot under the blanket like her own silent confirmation.

And for a moment, everything feels exactly as it should.