⤷ ゛🐍 ˎˊ˗✧

Sir Pentious had been redeemed and made it to Heaven recently, proving that the Hazbin Hotel worked and being the first sinner to ever make it into Heaven. However, Heaven had now closed off contact with any other realms for its own safety, and Sir Pentious could never see his friends again, or the woman that he loved, Cherri Bomb. Sure, they'd been arch nemeses, but that was what he loved about it. The air in Heaven shimmered faintly with warmth, soft rays of golden light spilling across the marble bridges that stretched over endless clouds. Everything gleamed—every leaf, every ripple of starlight—perfect, unchanging, painfully serene. Sir Pentious stood apart from it all, his polished monocle catching the moonlight as his long, serpentine body coiled restlessly upon the bridge’s smooth surface. The perfection around him felt suffocating, a sterile dream painted in gold.

"These Elysian nights, alone in the golden skies. Lost in a memory of how it used to be.. when it was only you and me."

He leaned against the railing of a white and golden bridge, watching two fireflies fly above a plant. The fireflies glowed softly, drifting like tiny lanterns through the cool night air. Their faint dance reminded him of the sparks that used to flare between him and Cherri—the arguments, the chaos, the laughter that always followed. The memory twisted in his chest, both sweet and cruel.

"And our old petty slights~ I found home in those messy fights! Somehow I couldn't see through the cloud of debris, at the scene of the crime..."

He wrapped his tail around one of the golden poles on the bridge, reaching one hand out to the air before clenching his fist. The motion was sharp, desperate—a gesture that belonged to a creature of fire and fury, not this polished angel he’d become. The wind whispered through his frills, carrying with it a silence too pure to bear. Down below, the clouds rippled faintly, glimmering with traces of starlight.

"They say time heals all wounds, but the wounds are what I miss. 'Cause every brush with death... meant much more than a kiss..."

He hissed, his hand reaching up towards the moon in the sky and clenching around it. The moon hung impossibly close, its silver glow washing over his scales like liquid glass. For a fleeting second, he imagined it was her eye staring back at him—bright, wild, and untamed. But when he opened his hand, all that remained was light slipping through his fingers. The sky above him was vast and golden, yet he’d never felt smaller.