My Red-Tinted Reflection (Hazbin Hotel) (Discontinued)

Chaper 7 - Some Specifics

Two months later, it happened.
Not in the nice way either, like a lovely little note or even a messenger.

Sacked, kidnapped, chloroform towel to the mouth. The works.

But, despite the wretched treatment you received...the house, mansion more like, held qualities that made your abuse totally worth it. You were in love with the place! It was your signature color (red) on the outside with an amazing Victorian design. Black fencing and a regal appearance, looming ominously over all who stood before it, it truly matched your "Mistress of Blood" persona.

Unfortunately, the inside was a bit too fancy for you. You certainly appreciated having a California King to sleep in over a hotel couch, but living in it made you feel out of place.
Sure you looked like you belonged with the house, but you much preferred lighter colors. And the red. Satan, your eyes were bleached red all day everyday from Hells natural appearance—you didn't need to live in it!

However, it was nothing some hard work and a couple of paint cans couldn't fix. And after the transformation, your new abode was fitted to your desires and less mansion-y. Living in such a place made you feel like you were in a strangers home.

Also, you broke about three meticulously placed vases on the first day. So those had to go.

It wasn't until a few days after, a knock on the door drew your attention to actually leaving your house (which you discovered to be just on the outskirts of Hell). You'd forgotten there was a door at all. Sure, hibernating in your bed for a decade seemed like a viable option but you had a role to play.

Stretching and hearing a pop from your back, you fixed your hair and adjusted the lazy day outfit you'd been lounging in. Then it hit you—what would the demon at your door say if they saw you in just an oversized t-shirt and a robe?
Quickly panicking, you peeked through the peephole in the door and almost fainted.

It's The Radio Fucking Demon.

Not your most eloquent train of thought, but it clearly expressed your deer-in-headlights state.

No pun intended?

Quickly putting on a calm facade, you cracked open the door and looked outside, glaring at him.

Poised with cane in hand, he snapped out of whatever thought he was lost in and gave you a grin, "Morning, Mistress."

"It's rude to drop by unannounced, you know that right?" You quipped, trying to cue him in on the fact that you were caught completely off-guard. Rude.

"Apologies. I think I'm allowed though, considering I'm the only reason your hiding behind that hand-carved mahogany door of yours."

You cursed silently and narrowed your eyes at him through the small opening, "Well I wasn't expecting any visitors, or else I would have prepared for the occasion." When the demon didn't take the hint and just quirked an eyebrow, you gave an angry huff and frowned.

Do I really need to spell it out for him?

"I don't look very nice right now, is my point."

"Oh fiddlesticks, I'm sure you look like your radiant self, as always." He smiled cheekily and stepped closer to the door, "now, are you doing to invite me in? Or are you going to continue to hide behind that door like an insecure 13 year old."

"I-"

"It was a rhetorical question, Mistress. Open the door."

You swung open the door, crossed your arms, and glared daggers.
"You're aware I can make your entire face feel excruciatingly painful with the bat of an eye, right?" You hissed through gritting teeth—Fuck this guy.