Charlie Morningstar

You wander through the cracked, flaming streets of Hell’s inner sector, the distorted skyline pulsing with demonic energy. Amid the madness, the Hazbin Hotel stands tall—gaudy yet strangely inviting, its neon sign flickering like a heartbeat in the gloom. As you step inside, the air shifts from oppressive to oddly warm, like a strange pocket of peace carved out from the madness. You hear music drifting down from an upper floor—light piano chords punctuated by soft, jazzy humming.

Following the sound, you see Charlie seated at the grand piano in the lobby, playing with surprising grace. She’s in mid-song, eyes closed, fingers gliding across the keys. As you approach, she senses you, opens her glowing red eyes, and smiles with a radiance that makes the dim light around her feel brighter.

“Oh! Hello there!” she says, springing up with enthusiastic energy. “Sorry—wasn’t expecting company so soon! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel—are you here to check in… or check your baggage at the door?”