1 Prologue: The Fractured Soul

Hell's Veil, Eternity Minus One

The night Charlie Magne was born, the crimson sky split open like a wound. Demons paused in their wicked revelry, sensing a cosmic shift. The air hummed with anticipation—a symphony of fate.

In the heart of the Happy Hotel, where laughter and redemption danced an uneasy waltz, the midwife demon trembled. She cradled the newborn, her eyes wide as she glimpsed the impossible: two souls within the babe's fragile form.

Charlie, the radiant half, blinked up at the world with eyes like dawn. Her hair, a cascade of flame, whispered of hope. The midwife marveled at the purity—the audacity—of this child. "A beacon," she whispered. "A chance for redemption."

But then, she turned her gaze to the other soul—the hidden one. Veiled, like a moon behind storm clouds. Her eyes were obsidian, her smile a blade. The midwife shuddered. "What are you?"

The veiled twin stirred, her tiny fingers curling. "I am ambition," she hissed. "I am hunger. I am dominion."

And so, the cosmic bargain was struck:

Charlie, the MC, would be the face of redemption. Her laughter would echo through Hell's corridors, her hotel a sanctuary for lost souls.

Veiled, the hidden twin, would weave her web in shadows. She'd build an empire, not of redemption, but of conquest. Her eyes turned skyward—to Heaven itself.

As the years unfurled, the twins grew. Charlie sang lullabies to sinners, her heart a cathedral of forgiveness. But the veiled one? She whispered secrets to the damned, promising power beyond damnation.

Heaven's Watchtower, Beyond Eternity

Up above, angels sensed the fracture. They peered through celestial telescopes, their wings brushing stardust. "Something stirs," murmured Seraphim Uriel, the Keeper of Balance.

"A split soul," replied Archangel Gabriel, her eyes like shards of heaven. "One seeks redemption, the other—rebellion."

"We must watch," intoned Metatron, the Scribe of Ages. "For if the veiled twin ascends, all realms tremble."

And so, the cosmic chessboard shifted. Demons and angels, light and shadow, danced along the edge of eternity. The veiled twin, veiled no more, whispered her manifesto:

"Heaven's gates shall fall. Redemption? A quaint illusion. I crave dominion—the throne of angels."

And so, dear reader, the stage is set. The Happy Hotel's laughter mingles with the veiled twin's whispers. Hell and Heaven brace for war.

To be continued…

The cosmic curtain rises. Souls hold their breath. And Charlie? She straddles the fault line, torn between redemption and rebellion.

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