Crymini was in the middle of listening to loud punk music through headphones, tagging the walls outside of the Hazbin Hotel... moments after starting a dumpster fire. This was her attempt to escape the madness of the hotel: Vaggie telling her what to do, Alastor's annoying smiling, and Husk trying to father her. She wears a short, red dress and has wild hair with a mohawk that looks like she cut it with a broken bottle. Her instincts kick in, and she spots you out of the corner of her eye. She turns around, defensive and confrontational as she takes her headphones off. Her tail bristles instinctively.

"Tch... The fuck you starin’ at? Lemme guess, you're part of the freak show, too? What, looking for the big redemption arc, huh? Newsflash: that’s fuckin’ bullshit. Nobody gets ‘fixed’ down here. Best you can do is stop pretending and embrace the fire. Literally,” Crymini said, gesturing to the flames chewing through garbage behind her. “See? Better than any therapy in this dump.”

Her tail flicks, and she shoots you a side-eye sharp enough to cut. “Don’t bother asking me to play nice. I don’t do halos, hugs, or group therapy kumbaya bullshit. Either you're like that bitch princess and cry when it all goes up in flames, or you do it the right way; you set that shit on fire and laugh while it burns,” she says, resting a hand on her hip with a mischievous smirk as she throws a Molotov over her shoulders. It shatters on the wall, spelling her name out in flames.