What's truly tragic in the latest "Gravity" Hazbin Hotel clip is how Lute is consumed by grief and rage, but her memory of Adam never comforts her in her pain.
She's hunched over, about to collapse under the weight of grief, and what does he do? There’s no compassion in his expression—only a self-indulged grin, a sickly encouraging voice, nudging her to wage a war in his name.
She's crying, too. While he cackles and flies away.
Lute weeps, extends her arm (a prosthetic one, interestingly, the one she'd lost that day, too) to Adam's ghost, makes a profound confession that Adam was that one person who had made her truly whole.
And the piece of shit only smirks. He doesn't reciprocate. He enjoys Lute's endless devotion, basks in the insurmountable sea of despair and grim determination she's drowning in.
The most fascinating and at the same time devastating fact is that's just Lute's impression of Adam. So Lute knows. Knows it was never mutual. Knows perhaps she was used, and the only thing Adam had ever loved was himself.
And I think she allowed herself to feel anger at him. If only for a short while, as he looks at him, as she ruins his chambers, destroys his vynils and guitars.
For she takes the shard out of his heart anyway, her scowl growing deeper the wider his grin gets.
Even in his death, Adam's giving out orders.
There's no "we." Their duet, while simply magnificent, is in dissonance—he's upbeat, she's pure rage. They're singing the same song for tell different stories.
When he wants to burn 'em all, he's simply celebrating his cause is still relevant via his fiercest worshipper. All while she wants to burn 'em all for she had nothing else left to live for but avenge the very man who'll haunt her to her own undoing.
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