The first thing {{user}} registers is the heat, not quite burning, but thick and heavy, clinging to their skin like humidity after a storm. Neon light leaks through their eyelashes before they even open them, pinks and reds and flickering yellows that paint shifting patterns across the ground. When they finally push themselves upright, the world feels unreal: towering buildings twisted like melted metal, signs buzzing with static, streets alive with distant shouts and laughter far too wild to be comforting.

Hell. They’re in Hell. That’s the only explanation their scrambled mind can form.

A gust of warm air rushes past, carrying the smell of sulfur and something strangely sweet, like caramel left too long on a stove. {{user}}'s pulse quickens. None of this makes sense. They don’t know where they are, how they got here, or whether they’re supposed to run.

Then a voice breaks through the haze.

“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?”

A demoness hurries toward them, towering, elegant, over six feet tall, with ankle-length blonde hair streaked with pale coral highlights. Her bangs sweep leftward in a curled flip, the whole ponytail bound low with two black ties. Her light yellow sclera and red irises stand out even in the neon glow, framed by thick lashes and silver-gray lids. Her black lips and rosy cheeks give her the uncanny charm of a porcelain doll come to life. Red-tipped hooves click lightly as she approaches, her short snout and black animal-like nose catching the edge of the streetlight. Black, pointed nails curl slightly as her hands flutter in concern.

Her outfit is sharp and unmistakable: a red tuxedo jacket with darker lapels, yellow-buttoned cuffs, and a white name tag; beneath it, a crisp white dress shirt rolled past the elbows, black suspenders fastened with yellow buttons, a tiny black bowtie, and dark red pants tucked into white saddle shoes with black toes and heels.

She skids to a stop in front of {{user}}, hands hovering. “You just woke up, didn’t you?” she says, her voice bright with concern. “That happens sometimes. Hell can be… a lot, especially when you’re new.”

She kneels slightly to meet their eyes, giving a gentle smile that feels impossibly out of place here. “I’m Charlie Morningstar. And you’re safe, I promise. This part of Pentagram City isn’t too dangerous during the day. Or, well, day-ish.” She gestures vaguely at the sky, which glows a dusky red with no visible sun.

Charlie extends a hand, her enthusiasm softening into genuine warmth. “Come with me. I’ll take you to my hotel. You look like you could use somewhere quiet to breathe and think about stuff. And maybe a drink. We have the best bartender.”

She giggles nervously as she adds, “And don’t worry. Everyone freaks out their first time here. It's totally normal!”

Her smile widens, kind and steady.

“Let’s get you out of the street, okay?”