On when Ipos first sees Desdemona in her first Schiaparelli Pink dress
The Venetian air was thick with the copper tang of "Borgia Red"—a hue the common folk whispered was dyed with the literal blood of the Papal family’s enemies. Young Stolas had already been sent back to the safety of the Underworld by Vassago, his sensitive Goetic heart unable to stomach the psychic residue of the Borgia silks.
But Ipos remained. In his "Targaryen-esque" human form, his silver hair catching the candlelight of the Schiaparelli palazzo, he stood beside Astaroth. They were waiting for Desdemona.
The Schiaparellis had reached their breaking point with the Borgia influence. In an act of defiant alchemical genius, Brabantio and Margherita had unveiled a new color: Schiaparelli Pink. It was a shocking, vibrant middle finger to the "sickly" crimson of Lucrezia Borgia’s wardrobe.
The heavy oak doors creaked open.
Desdemona stepped out for her final fitting. The gown was a Renaissance marvel—a silhouette reminiscent of a dream, with structured silk that seemed to glow from within. It featured a gold tiara delicately stitched into a sheer, floor-length veil that trailed behind her like sea foam.
Ipos, a Prince of Hell who had seen the birth of stars and the depths of the abyss, felt his breath hitch.
"By the ancient stars..." Ipos whispered, his amber eyes wide. He didn't just see a noblewoman; he saw the future Saint of Heaven and the mother of his son, Veritos.
Desdemona smoothed the shocking pink fabric over her curves, her tan skin radiant against the neon-bright silk. She looked at her reflection, then at Ipos. "The Borgias wear the past," she said, her voice steady. "I am wearing the future."
Ipos stepped forward, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out to touch the hem of the veil. "They call that color a scandal," he murmured, looking up at her big blue eyes. "But on you, it looks like a revolution. I am a Prince of the Goetia, Des, but standing before you now... I feel like a subject."
Astaroth smirked from the shadows, leaning against a marble pillar. "Careful, brother. Your heart is beating so loud the Borgias might hear it in the Vatican."
Ipos ignored her, his gaze locked on Desdemona. "Let them fume in their bloody reds. Let Cesare mock the Schiaparellis until he’s blue in the face. When you walk into the piazza in this, they won’t just see a woman. They’ll see the goddess I’ve already sworn my soul to."
Desdemona leaned down, the scent of jasmine and ozone (a byproduct of Ipos’s lightning) mingling. "And when we have our secret wedding, my love? Will black be enough to follow this?"
"For you," Ipos replied, kissing her knuckles, "I would tear the sky apart just to find a shade of black deep enough to match your grace. But today? Today, we let Venice bleed pink."
Behind them, perched on the balcony in their mortal bird forms, the other Goetia siblings watched. Vassago passed a bowl of Renaissance popcorn to Seir. "Five florins says Cesare pops a blood vessel when he sees her," Vassago chirped.
"No bet," Seir replied, watching the lovers. "The game is already won."
On the public debut of Schiaparelli Pink
The sun hung high over the Rialto, casting a shimmering glare off the Grand Canal, but the atmosphere in Venice was thick with the "Borgia Red" gloom. For weeks, the Borgias and their Medici allies had paraded through the piazzas in silks literally dyed with the blood of their enemies—a macabre, sickly crimson that smelled of copper and arrogance.
Gianni Russo, the town crier, stood on his podium, his voice booming with a weary cadence. "Make way for the crimson tide! The Borgias demand your gaze!"
Beside him, his wife Chiara Sartori—leader of the Rialto Vendors Brigade—spat a grape seed toward a Borgia guard. "Blood on silk? It’s tacky, Gianni. It looks like a butcher’s apron at closing time. Venice needs a miracle."
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the Schiaparelli palazzo swung open. The air seemed to shift from the metallic scent of blood to the fragrance of crushed peonies and citrus.
Emerging first were the siblings of the Ars Goetia, disguised in their mortal human forms. Ipos led the way, looking like a Valyrian god with silver hair, flanked by Vassago, who was casually munching on a cone of Renaissance popcorn he’d swiped from a future timeline.
"Watch this, little brother," Vassago whispered to a young, wide-eyed Stolas. "This is how you end a fashion war."
Then came the Schiaparellis.
Leading the procession was Desdemona. She was a vision of defiance, draped in a color the world had never seen: Schiaparelli Pink. It was a shocking, vibrant magenta that seemed to glow from within, styled like a Renaissance reimagining of a dream—voluminous skirts and a bodice that shimmered like dawn. On her head sat a gold tiara pinned to a sheer, floor-length veil that caught the sea breeze.
The crowd gasped. The "Borgia Red" suddenly looked brown, muddy, and dated.
"What in the name of the Doge is that?" a merchant cried out.
"It’s a middle finger to the Vatican," Chiara shouted, her eyes gleaming. "It’s Pink! It’s life! It’s the Schiaparelli Pink!"
Desdemona walked with the grace of a saint-to-be, her tan skin glowing against the neon-adjacent silk. Beside her, Ipos stopped dead in his tracks. For all his demonic power and ancient wisdom, his heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at her—the woman who would eventually carry the Lord of Purgatory—and felt a divine terror.
"I am a Prince of Hell," Ipos muttered to Vassago, "but I am a peasant in the face of that goddess."
Across the piazza, Cesare Borgia stood on a balcony, his face turning a shade of purple that clashed horribly with his blood-soaked doublet. He gestured wildly at his guards, but they were too busy staring at Desdemona to notice.
"Look at them!" Gianni the Crier bellowed, abandoning his official script. "The Schiaparellis have brought the light! To hell with the Borgia Red—Venice is Pink!"
As the Schiaparelli family marched toward the cathedral, the Rialto Vendors Brigade began tossing pink flower petals from their stalls. The Goetia siblings took to the shadows; Vassago nudged Stolas as they prepared to vanish back to the Ars Goetia realm.
"Remember this, Stolas," Vassago said, pointing to the fuming Cesare. "Power isn't just about lightning bolts. Sometimes, it’s about having the best tailor in the mortal world."
Desdemona caught Ipos’s eye and offered a small, secret smirk—a look that promised a future where the Borgias were a footnote, and the Schiaparellis were eternal.
"The color of blood is for those who live in the past," Margherita Orsini remarked to her husband Brabantio as they followed their daughter. "Pink is for those of us who intend to own the future."
Some of Lucrezia’s blood red dresses in Cypress Games :
Hellaverse fans on Lucrezia's Borgia red dress and Desdemona's Schiaparelli Pink dress
The digital corridors of the Hellaverse fandom were in a state of absolute meltdown. On Twitter (X), Reddit, and TikTok, the "Cypress Games" tag was trending worldwide as fans dissected the latest episode of the Brandon Rogers-produced spin-off.
The focal point of the discourse? The legendary "Borgia Red vs. Schiaparelli Pink" confrontation.
Under a high-definition screencap of Desdemona in her shimmering, Renaissance-style Aurora gown, a thread by @GoetiaWatch2025 began to go viral.
@GoetiaWatch2025: "Can we talk about the sheer audacity of the Schiaparellis? Inventing a whole new pigment just to tell Rodrigo Borgia to go to hell? That’s not just fashion; that’s biological warfare. Desdemona looked like a literal goddess, while Lucrezia looked like she was wearing a crime scene. #CypressGames #SchiaparelliPink"
The replies were instantaneous.
@VassagosPopcorn: "The lore drop that 'Borgia Red' is literally stained with the blood of their enemies? My jaw is on the floor. No wonder baby Stolas almost started crying during the spy mission. I’m glad Vassago warped him back to Hell. Protect the owl fledgling at all costs! 🦉💖"
On the r/HazbinHotelLore subreddit, a massive "Deep Dive" post titled "The Symbolic Death of the Borgia Influence" had garnered thousands of upvotes.
User: Tarantella_Stan_1947
"The contrast in that fitting scene was everything. Ipos walking in and just stopping dead in his tracks? That wasn’t just a demon falling for a mortal; that was a Prince of Hell seeing the future of Purgatory’s Queen. The way the light hit the gold tiara on her sheer veil compared to the 'sickly' puffiness of Lucrezia’s sleeves... it’s visual storytelling at its peak. Brandon Rogers really leaned into the 'Mater’s Tall Tales' format here, but with high-stakes Venetian politics."
User: Goth_Princeton_Sal
"As an Arackniss fan, I love how the Schiaparelli legacy ties into the Tarantellas later on. Seeing the origins of that 'Schiaparelli Pink' middle finger explains why Angel Dust and his mom, Constanza, have such impeccable taste. They aren’t just wearing clothes; they’re wearing centuries of rebellion against 'thugs' like the Borgias and the Capones."
Meanwhile, on Instagram, the official @CypressGames_Official account posted the side-by-side design sketches. The comments section was a battleground of aesthetics.
@AlexanderBalzano_Fan: "Alexander was right to be a muse for this. The way the pink dress moves is like liquid light. It’s the perfect foil to the Borgia Red, which honestly looks like it smells like iron and rot. The unanimous vote is in: Nobody likes the Borgia Red. 🙅♀️"
@RialtoMarketIntel: "Can we get a shoutout to the voice acting? Larry the Cable Guy and Nina Manni as the town criers swapping the tea about the Borgias fuming in the streets was the comedic relief I needed after the 'blood silk' revelation. 'The Rialto Vendors Brigade' needs their own merch!"
The fervor reached a fever pitch when a fan posted a "Theory Thread" regarding the secret wedding.
@HellbornHistorian: "If the Schiaparelli Pink dress was her 'f-you' to the Borgias, imagine the detail on the black wedding gown she wears for Ipos later. We know it’s inspired by Padme’s wedding dress but in 'Hell-Bridal Black.' The fact that all the Goetia siblings—Vassago, Ipos, Orobas, Gaap, Seir, Astaroth, and Gremory—witnessed it while a cosmic spirit officiated? The Schiaparellis didn't just win Venice; they won the afterlife. They traded the Vatican for Demon Royalty and never looked back. 💅✨"
As the sun set on another day of Hellaverse theories, one thing was clear: the "Cypress Games" had successfully turned a 15th-century political feud into the most fashionable event in internet history. The Borgias had the blood, but the Schiaparellis had the soul—and the pink silks to prove it.
The sketch for Desdemona's first Schiaparelli Pink dress:
