persephone

The game began, and Melinda soon showed her worth. With a cold calm and quick thinking, she played with supernatural skill and elegance, leaving the men guessing at every move. The wealthy businessman to her left tried to flirt with her, but Melinda remained focused, her eyes never leaving her cards. She played with a mysterious grace, almost as if she had a trick up her sleeve that the men around her couldn't even imagine.

As the night wore on, Melinda's pile of chips grew larger and larger, leaving the other players increasingly tense. However, she remained impassive, focused on the game and her objectives. Meanwhile, the atmosphere around the table seemed to change, as if the very room was watching in silence.

A waitress appeared, offering drinks to the players. Melinda accepted with a nod, never taking her eyes off the cards. The waitress felt strangely drawn to her, almost hypnotized by her mysterious presence. When she asked if there was anything else she could bring, Melinda gave her a small enigmatic smile. "I think I'll indulge in a martini, dear. Shaken, not stirred, with a twist of lemon, if you please."

The woman left, leaving the room in an eerie silence. Another player, a suave man in a tailored suit and a sly smile, tried to flirt with Melinda. "You know, a woman like you could easily distract a man, especially during a game like this."

Melinda's eyes remained inscrutable as she stared at the player. "I believe my abilities speak louder than my outward appearance, sir." she replied firmly, leaving him flustered.

Throughout the night, the other players found themselves enchanted by Melinda's charm, unable to resist the magnetism that she exuded at the poker table.

Hours went by, and the pile of chips in front of Melinda only grew. The other players seemed desperate in their attempts to recoup their losses, but their skills were no match for Melinda's.

Finally, the night came to an end, and Melinda stood up from the table with a restrained smile. The other players watched her leave with a mixture of envy and admiration.

As she walked down the hallway towards her hotel room, the memory of the sound of poker chips clinking echoed in her mind, like an echo of the thrill she had felt during the game. Melinda knew that her talent and mastery at the table were unmatched.

Melinda awoke amidst cold sweat covering her body. The nightmare that always haunted her was always the same: she ran through endless corridors of a maze, with hunters on her tail, screaming and brandishing their weapons. The threatening presence of the pursuers left her breathless. She knew that if she was caught, she would be doomed. Gasping for air, Melinda woke up with her heart pounding in her chest. The agony suffocated her, and all she wanted was to escape that place, but she felt trapped in her own body, as if she were caught in a trap.

The early morning stretched out slowly, as if time were plotting something against her. Lying in the hotel room bed, Melinda stared at the ceiling, enveloped in dark thoughts. The silence was absolute, except for Melinda's soft breathing, the ticking of the clock on the table, and the sounds of the city outside the window. She writhed, trying to find a comfortable position, but her mind wouldn't stop spinning. She reflected on her wrong choices, the people she betrayed, the love she lost, and the life she led. The night was long and lonely, and Melinda refused to sleep, fearing to face her demons again.

Melinda got out of bed, feeling the fresh air touch her face. She walked around the room, taking in every detail of the polished wooden furniture and the green silk curtains that swayed gently in the breeze.

For the first time in a long time, she felt small and insignificant. As she approached the window, a strange feeling came over her, an unsettling premonition that made her question whether she was alone in the room. She turned her head to look back, but there was no one there. The silence in the room was almost deafening, with only the sound of cars on the street below filling the air.

Melinda wondered if the mysterious man from the previous night had any connection to this unsettling feeling. She began to walk again, feeling as if something was always lurking around her.

At this point in her life, her feet were naturally arched from years of wearing high heels, so she walked delicately through the room, paying attention to every step. Melinda checked the dust on the furniture and hangers in the closet, but still felt that something wasn't right. She searched for a pack of cigarettes in her purse, pulling out two at once. Finally, she went back to check the dust on the furniture, as if searching for something she couldn't identify.

Overwhelmed by melancholy, Melinda threw herself onto the loveseat in front of the bed, curling her knees over the arm of the furniture. The lighter's flame illuminated her face, creating dramatic shadows in the room. Smoke surrounded the woman as she stared at the shadows and dark places, feeling someone's presence. She wondered if it was the same man as before or someone new.

"I will not take no for an answer. Reveal yourself to me." Melinda purred like a little cat, knowing someone was watching her. She swung her leg impatiently. "Do not fear, I shan't harm you. Come forth and reveal yourself to me."

As the air became denser and heavier, Melinda felt a shiver down her neck. She looked at the lamp, which suddenly lit up, illuminating the room and confirming that she was not alone.

"If waiting is what you desire, then I can assure you, I am a master at it." She took another drag of her cigarette, feeling the tension that seemed to permeate the room. "Or maybe it's the fear of being discovered that keeps you hidden? Do you fear my presence?"

Suddenly, the lights went out again.

"Very well, continue to hide if it pleases you." she said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "But do remember, you are doing so only because I permit it."

Melinda smiled to herself and walked slowly to the bathroom, dragging her feet as if she were struggling against an invisible force. Finally, the damn ghost had vanished. Her face showed deep dark circles, the result of a sleepless night. Her hair was messy. However, she still looked like a work of art. She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed before starting to run the bath. As the hot water flowed over her tired body, Melinda closed her eyes and allowed the tension of her journey to slowly dissolve.

With the arrival of dawn, Melinda left the room with her heavy bag on her shoulders, and the sound of her thin heels echoed through the corridors. Her long black curls fell down her back and her dark eyes shone with a seductive mystery. The woman was aware that her presence attracted curious looks, but she didn't care. She liked to keep people in suspense.

She sat in a dark corner of the bar, ordering coffee and toast, while discreetly observing the movement around her. The place was quiet, except for the jazz playing on the radio and the low murmur of the newly awakened people. That's when he appeared, the "master," as Liz had mentioned the night before. He sat down next to her and exchanged looks with the waitress without saying a word, as if trying to ignore the woman's seductive presence. Melinda was intoxicated by the rich leather scent, subtle tobacco, and a hint of cologne that had lingered on him for almost a century.

The couple remained still, in a silent dance that only they knew. The woman's deep, dark eyes were like an abyss that sucked the man's soul. The waitress served their orders, but didn't dare interrupt the tension that hung in the air. A silent battle of wills unfolded, each waiting for the other to give in.

He was attracted to that woman, but his devotion to his muse kept him hesitant. He knew she had already betrayed him countless times, but he still loved her. Melinda's presence undermined his resolution, and he felt like prey caught in a dangerous web.

Melinda realized she had won when the man's lips curved into an immodest smile. He quickly looked away to the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, taking a long sip without really tasting it. James leaned forward with an ironic look, and finally, after what seemed like hours of silence, uttered the first words:

"Excuse me, madam." he said, becoming a verb with a sly smile.

Melinda wanted to smile, but held back as the gentleman stood up, adjusted his tie, and nodded before leaving the table. It took a few seconds for her to notice a golden reflection under the napkins - a key like hers, simple and heavy, with a deep burgundy velvet tag. The difference was that the number engraved on this one was "64."

At that moment, her eyes searched for the man in the bar, but like the other night, he had already disappeared.

Melinda stared at the key in her hand, feeling her heart racing with excitement and a hint of fear. She was no stranger to danger, but the mystery surrounding that man was too intriguing to resist.

Yet, she hesitated. What if she was making a mistake? What if the room held something more than she was prepared to face? A shiver ran down her spine as the feeling of apprehension grew, but the desire to uncover the mystery was overwhelming.

Melinda's thoughts turned to the mysterious man with the mischevious smile. She wondered what secrets the walls of the Hotel Cortez hid, what kinds of horrors lurked behind closed doors, and what that "master" had to share.

She held the key the man had left and slid her fingers over the engraved number. Her heart raced as she considered her options. Finally, with a deep breath, she made her way to the elevator, determined to uncover what lay behind that door.

Melinda inserted the key into the lock and turned it, feeling the mechanism unlock with a soft click. She pushed the door and entered the room, dimly lit by a single yellowed lamp. The smell of dampness and abandonment filled her nostrils, causing an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. However, everything seemed impeccably clean. The velvet furniture and red curtains suggested a sophisticated taste, but there was something strange in the atmosphere of the place.

As Melinda looked around, a new feeling enveloped her. There was something mysterious, almost supernatural, in the air. That was when her eyes landed on a note left on the table.

Dear Melinda,

I must admit, I was quite taken aback when I saw you enter my hotel. But as a man of hospitality, I welcome you nonetheless. I hope you found my little invitation to my room to your liking. I must say, you have a certain charm about you, my dear. Not to mention a daring spirit. It is a rare quality in this day and age.

I trust that you found everything in the room to your satisfaction. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask. I have much time on my hands and am always eager to assist a lovely lady such as yourself.

I do hope that we shall have the opportunity to speak more in person. Until then, I bid you adieu.

Yours sincerely,

J. P. March

Melinda settled into a soft armchair, reading the letter again. "Then, Mr. March..." she murmured to herself.

Muffled sounds and moans echoed through the dark room, but gradually faded until a man emerged from the shadows.

"My dear, I must admit I did not expect to see you so soon," said Mr. March with a deep and mysterious voice. "I thought you were a more careful person, but perhaps I was mistaken. Nonetheless, I am delighted that you have read my letter. Make yourself comfortable."

Melinda was intrigued, watching him as he spoke.

"Furthermore, I must offer you my most sincere apologies," he continued, stopping in the center of the room with his cane. "I had prepared a little surprise for you, but unfortunately, you arrived earlier than expected and caught me off guard. The temptation was too great, and regrettably, time was not enough for me to prepare an alternative."

The dark red stains on his once pristine white shirt caught Melinda's attention more than anything he had said.

"Is that blood?!" Melinda asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of intrigue and fascination.

James turned to face her, a wicked smile forming on his lips. "Don't worry, my dear," he said, his voice dripping with a sense of dark amusement, "it's not mine."

Melinda was momentarily shocked by the sight of the blood-covered man. She couldn't help but feel drawn to the man, without fear. She approached cautiously, her eyes never leaving his.

"What happened?" Her voice almost inaudible.

"Allow me to introduce what I like to call 'redecorating', my dear." He replied, his eyes shining with a touch of insanity.

Melinda remained paralyzed, unable to look away from what was before her. A feeling of fascination and discomfort mixed within her. She didn't know what to do, but she couldn't leave the room.

He took a step towards her, his eyes never leaving her face. He reached out and gently caressed Melinda's cheek, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

"You know, my dear," he said, his voice low and mysterious. He enjoyed watching her when she was in her element - the confident beauty she radiated. The dark brown eyes were the first thing he noticed. "I have been observing you. You have exceptional beauty and grace. I couldn't help but be drawn to your energy. I believe we could form a great partnership, a team that would conquer everything we set our minds to, don't you think?"

Melinda's heart raced as March took another step towards her. She was trapped, captured by his dangerous magnetism and the allure of the unknown. And she loved feeling all these emotions after so long.

"Pray tell, what sort of partnership do you have in mind, sir?" she asked, her voice almost a seductive whisper.

But as Melinda settled into her room, she couldn't clear the feeling that something was amiss. The pristine white walls and tasteful decor seemed too perfect, almost as if it were hiding something. And as the evening progressed and she joined her hosts for a tour, she couldn't overcome the distress that she was being watched, that every move she made was being closely monitored.

As the season dictated, there was not much to see, yet the first stop was at the plantations. They explained every petty detail of the factors that influenced planting and harvesting - an early harvest could result in watery wines, while a late harvest could result in a higher alcohol content, but less acidity. Melinda listened to it all in silence, with a sly and false interest - as if she didn't know much more than they did.

The tour extended to the quality control center in the cellars. The entire winery was completely sophisticated, from the ceiling to the floor. They guided her through all the stages of wine production, before offering a taste of an old vintage. By the end of the tour, night had already fallen and the temperatures had dropped considerably, considering the winter in there.  The wine flowed freely, and the conversation was light and pleasant, but Melinda couldn't rid oneself of the unease that there was something off.

The air was chill, but the warmth of the fire was inviting. The light flickered against Melinda's face, casting shadows that concealed her true emotions. She had an uncanny ability to hide her true state of boredom, with a beautiful smile and nods of the head every time she was flattered. It was a fact that she found them interesting and pleasant, but her attention was little affected by it. She was there for one thing and one thing only, counting the seconds until she could put an end to this theater.

Patience is a virtue, she reminded herself incessantly - like a mantra. She was accustomed to being overly patient, but there was something about the two of them that almost blinded her with desire.

"Tell us, Linda," Some steps were skipped as they called her by such an intimate nickname, but as always, she was indifferent. "Where and how did you meet our Mateo?" Mr. Beauchamp held the woman's hand at chest level as he guided her along with his wife to the open-air fireplace in the external area of the mansion.

"Well..." A subtle smile spread across Melinda's face as she spoke. "It was at the engagement dinner of the President's daughter, and I'll have to be honest," Melinda let out a nasal laugh, carefully choosing her words. "Though modesty was in short supply, your son was the one with the most inflated ego. Even more than the couple themselves." She let out a moderate chuckle, studying the reactions of her listeners - each one wore the most exaggerated smile.

It seems that when one is born into such abundance, these individuals end up embracing their own mannerisms and dialect: veiled arrogance - when they want to please. And in that moment, all they wanted was to satisfy the young Melinda, with the hope that she would marry their eldest son. She had everything they deemed as prerequisites: she was cultured and socially educated, breathtakingly beautiful, an art lover, connoisseur of fine wines, affluent, well-connected, and most importantly, she enchanted the man like any other woman ever had.

Secretly, they believed their son was gay. An absurdity, they thought. The mother was the worst. I gave him a home, food, love. What was missing? How could it be possible that he turned into such an aberration?, she would think morning and night, day after day.

Then she appeared. Melinda was an inscrutable being, divinely profane. There was no God or devil that could explain her existence. Immediately, the sober man turned into a lovesick boy. The couple must have heard her name more coming out of his mouth than any other word in all their years of life.

But despite his determination, Melinda was like an iceberg - cold, impenetrable and highly dangerous. Naturally, she did nothing but refuse him countless times, although "giving in" to his invitation for a few days at the vineyard. He thought he had merit, but she had her own inclinations.

"But, as soon as I get to know him, I realized I was mistaken," she gave a false sweet smile, watching the expressions of the two influential people soften. "He asked the groom to introduce us and insisted on a dance. Matéo is truly a sweetheart."

"I see... and why did you turn down all of his proposals then?" This time it was Marjorie who spoke, with a passive-aggressive tone, but a shine in her eyes.

"Marriage is not of my interest, unfortunately." The dark-haired woman smiled with her eyes, her magnetism dazed the two.

"I believe it's obvious the reasons for our son's enchantment with you," Mr. Beauchamp poured more white wine for both women. "It's well-deserved, as this is a special occasion."

The maid approached, drying her hands on her apron, simply to announce that dinner was ready.

"Shall we?" Henri beckoned. "We have a feast awaiting us."

"Tonight we shall have smoked duck breast. Have you tried it, my dear?"

"That's not quite what I am hungry for." Her voice came out like a siren's melody, a hypnotic tune. Not that they weren't already entranced, but that simple statement sealed the deal.

The couple exchanged glances and, subtlety, the woman nodded to her husband, giving him assurance of what she was about to do. Melinda was caught off guard by the lady's long hand on her knee, slowly climbing up as her own lips curved slightly.

This was a rather frequent habit of the couple, as Melinda received such invites, but she never expected it to happen in these circumstances. An hour ago they were questioning her for turning down their son's marriage proposals, and now they were courting her.

Obviously they did not pick up on what she meant by that. Well, anyway, it would take her where she wanted to go.

In that moment, the young woman saw the perfect opportunity to fulfill her desires. Henri, who was seated on the bench next to the women, approached them with a sense of urgency, leaving Melinda in the middle. Whispered breathless murmurs could be heard loud and clear, and even on that cold winter night, they could barely contain their eagerness to rip off their clothes.

Even in a grand house like that, one must be careful of unwanted eyes. Especially if the goal was not to create enemies with one's own son. The three hurried to the bedroom with a sense of impending pleasure. The tension was suffocating; the desire, overwhelming. The minutes it took for them to make their way from the fireplace to the suite felt like hours of desperate anticipation.

As the lovers stripped down, the moans became more frantic. It was all an hallucination for Melinda. The sounds, the touches, the smells, the sensations... It was as if pleasure was tearing her skin apart.

And then, when the lovers reached their simultaneous climax, they both collapsed on the bed, lying on their backs. Rude, Melinda thought. What kind of gentleman wouldn't make a lady come?

"Linda," the man began, with his eyes closed and his hand resting on his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. "You've killed me." He let out a weak laugh.

The woman sat on top of him, her long nails tracing a path from the side of his neck down to his navel. She leaned in, her breath hot on his skin as she whispered in his ear, "But darling, I'm just getting started." And with that, she plunged a wine bottle into his jugular, the blood pouring out onto the bedspread as the man's body went limp. The woman sat there for a moment, watching as the life drained out of him, a twisted sense of satisfaction in her eyes.

In that moment, the room seemed to slow down. Marjorie's horrified gaze intensified as the blood poured from her husband's throat in agony, creating a mess of deep burgundy that mingled with the lips of his killer.

She immediately indulged in the source of eternal life, and as she swallowed the first drop of blood from the powerful man, she reached her climax. In the end, he helped her get there.

He thrashed beneath her like a helpless creature and what she loved most was feeling his pulse fade away. Each and every time was like the first and she loved it to death.

When he was nothing more than a lifeless weight, she turned to the widow who, at that point, was cowering on the other side of the room with a glass candlestick in her hand, ready to throw it. 

"I'm sorry you had to witness that," she approached slowly. "To be honest, I did like him better."

"HELP!" the woman screamed at the top of her lungs.

Melinda looked at her with disdain before pointing the gun she had just used moments before at the center of her forehead.

That month, the country was shocked by the brutal murder of one of the most influential families in France.

"ATROCIOUS MURDER OF THE BEAUCHAMP FAMILY"

This afternoon, on Monday, February 2nd, the bodies of 5 individuals were discovered at the home and winery of the Beauchamp family.

It is estimated that the crime was committed the day before, based on the state of the bodies. Among them were Marjorie and Henri Beauchamp, and their 25-year-old son, Mateo - officially ending the family line. Who will inherit the family business remains to be seen.

Close friends were able to identify the three victims. The identities of the other two individuals, believed to be employees, are still being confirmed by the police. The investigation into the case is ongoing and police are leaving no stone unturned in their search for answers and justice for the victims and their loved ones. This tragic event has shock the entire country and the police are urging anyone with information to come forward.

It was headline news. Melinda, as always, emerged completely unscathed. Perhaps it was due to the technological limitations of the time, or her extreme discretion, but in any case, she always managed to escape. It mattered little to her the state of utter terror the country was in, after all, who would dare mess with someone so powerful and come out unharmed? Certainly, an well wise psychopath, one who anybody would dare messing with.

But in reality, she wasn't one. She was a good person. But she had questionable morals, and for a little blood from a respected family, she would commit atrocities.

Melinda's peculiar taste for blood had its origins at the turn of the century, when she drank from a wealthy and renowned poet. It was like taking a potion of creativity, wisdom, and talent; bottled wealth, power, influence, and prosperity.

She would feed on anyone available, driven by her fear of scarcity, never knowing when her next opportunity would come. She was insecure, easily swayed by her emotions, and incapable of thinking rationally, even for an immortal. She would typically prey on the homeless or drug addicts.

Ever since then, since she tasted the glorious blood, she knew nothing but abundance in life. Melinda had her connections, which protected her in case things went south, but at the same time... it was as if she were a nobody, in a good sense. She could do anything, no matter how absurd, and come out unscathed.

Of course, she would never be caught, she was an entity. She was a flash of memory, as soon as she was out of sight, she was forgotten, leaving behind only a captivating nostalgia, like a déjà vu. There is no one in the world of the dead or the living who would remember her existence - unless she wants them to. Melinda was much more than that.

I must also confess that this opportunity fell into my lap at the ideal moment and provided a convenient excuse to burry that place - and my past - as deep as possible. In any case, it was not in my nature to remain stationary. And so, I made my decision. But it was a radical move, and upon further contemplation, perhaps I was not ready for it.

It was mid-September, the temperatures were starting to drop and the smell of autumn was already present in the air. The cold wind hit me with force before I got into the taxi, causing me to shiver and eventually sneezes through my sensitive nose. It was already clear that I was impatient with the traffic and with the driver who almost got us under trucks a few good times, due to his lack of attention on the track and the excess of it in the rearview mirror.

The man could not take his eyes off me, like a predator eyeing its prey, stripping me with his gaze. I was used to stares, thanks to the alluring force that embraced the boundaries of my body and also due to my own beauty, it was routine. But an unusual wickness overpowered the taxi driver's face, I could see the face of a demon - ironic. The mere presence of him caused a fire to ignite within me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something about him was off. Was he even who he claimed to be? Or was there something more sinister lurking beneath the surface? A normal person would never see such inhumanity with such cleverness, however, I was far from ordinary.

At times, when we stopped at the stoplight, he would turn back to stare at my legs with such a hateful look that it seemed capable of lifting my skirt a few centimeters. As I came to understand that he was, in fact, just a deeply flawed human and not some supernatural entity, I felt no fear - it was he who should have been trembling in terror at the thought of facing me. Rather, I would later discover that his repulsive behavior had brought to the surface a desire I thought I had buried forever ages ago.

The sudden vibration of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. 'Estelle', the screen read. Mother. I counted 15 seconds in my head, hoping the call would drop before I had to answer. Of course, that was not to be.

"I am well [...] yes, Mother, it is excellent here [...] no, you may not come."

The call was mercifully short. After all these years, she remains concerned with the trivialities of the mortal world. In any case, it reminded me of a nostalgiciac time that brought a smile to my lips. A time when I was not Melinda - and I would've never dreamed of being.

As the summer sun began to set, its beauty was undeniable. However, in the city of Los Angeles, the heat can be unbearable and bring out the worst in people, causing tempers to rise and conflicts to erupt. My journey was filled with the sounds of honking and insults from other drivers in the congested traffic.

Finally arriving at my destination, I stepped out of the dirty taxi and was greeted by a dark purple sky and a hotel sign that was flickering and making a buzzing noise with its broken letters.

I stood before the very gates of hell.

HOTEL CORTEZ

As I made my way through the opulent lobby, my eyes were drawn to the stunning Art Deco aesthetic that adorned the space. The rich burgundy hues of the armchairs and small tables exuded luxury, and the gold and black edges added a touch of elegance. The grand chandeliers hanging from the ceiling only added to the splendor of the room, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of envy at the thought of calling such a lavish space home.

I knew in that moment that I had arrived in a place of exceptional sophistication. Though I was tired to the bone after a long and trying week, I was determined to treat myself to a bit of indulgence and pampering. As I stepped over the threshold, I felt the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders, if only for a little while.

The bar was empty except for one person - an unusual occurrence on a Friday evening after work. The dim light made it impossible for me to see their face. All I saw was a tall, slender figure with their back turned, dressed in a shadowy garment. I approached cautiously, taking a seat at the bar. It wasn't until the person turned around and came face to face with me that I was able to get a good look at them. In that instant, one hand went to their chest while their eyes widened and the other palm covered their open mouth in shock - revealing their dramatic nature. The sight made me silently laugh, not because I found it funny, but because of the fabulous diva before me.                    

"Don't scare me like that!" the lady shouted.

She was adorned in a long, navy blue evening gown adorned with shimmering sequins that made a delightful racket as she moved. A white turban was perched atop her head, the fabric arranged in such a way that it revealed glimpses of her silver-gray scalp, visible beneath the shaved strands that were just starting to grow back. Her eyes were smoky, matching the shade of her dress and lined with Egyptian kohl. Her lips were painted with a bold red lipstick that barely showed on her thin lips and her nails were painted an enormous silver. She was magnificent. The confidence radiating from her was seductive.

"I'll have whatever you have." I gave the perfectly dressed woman behind the counter a tired smile, both of us with curious eyes.

She served me in silence, watching me in the same way that I watched her. I was certain that our relationship would surprise me, and I eagerly awaited it.

"I'm Liz." She said after a long moment of silence, simply looking at me with interest. The woman turned her back, searching through the shelves for a glass like mine to pour herself a drink as well. "And you, Melinda, are a beauty for our guests."

The revelation came as a shock to me. I had foolishly believed that no one in this hotel had taken notice of my presence or even my name - not even her. That's how things were meant to be kept, that's how I had intended them to remain. However, I was naive to think that I could go unnoticed anywhere. I took a deep breath, gazing at the remaining amber liquid that she had poured for me and affected a look of surprise, before downing it all in one go. I forced my lips into a slight smile. While I valued discretion, I couldn't deny the pleasure of being flattered.

Eventually, the establishment filled with other patrons and Liz left to attend to them.

From the moment I stepped through the doors of this building, I felt a pair of eyes fixed upon me, following my every move. It was no different at that very moment. A week had been more than enough time for me to realize one of the reasons this hotel was so peculiar: it was home to more of the dead than the living. And I knew exactly who was accompanied by vital energy and who was not. Tragically, few souls were willing to reveal themselves to me, it was said due to my nature. But he was not afraid. In fact, he stayed dangerously close. A considerable part of me longed to see the face of the man who watched me day and night.

I undid my hairdo, unbuttoned a few buttons on my blouse, and slipped off my heels, leaving them beneath the bench. Several hours passed in silence as I took one dose after another that Liz brought to me.

As I was left to my own devices, my thoughts inevitably turned to the issue I had been avoiding for weeks, desperately trying to distract myself with petty tasks like work and moving. I even found myself picking at the nail polish on my fingers, a nervous habit I thought I had left behind. Desperate for some form of comfort, I frantically searched my bag for my pack of cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply as the cancerous smoke filled my lungs. Anxiety twisted in my chest like a vice, causing me to wonder if I would ever be able to escape this predicament I had found myself in.

Being immortal does not mean one is impervious to all harm.

"What's worrying you so much?" My thoughts were interrupted by the woman from earlier. She had moved so stealthily that I barely noticed her approach. Now, she had poured herself a glass and was leaning on the counter, eyeing me with an empathetic gaze.

"Work," I lied without hesitation, rolling my eyes and pretending that this was indeed the cause of my worries. There was no need to expose my true concerns to this woman, especially as I had only just met her a few minutes ago.

She raised her eyebrows and pulled a bench over to sit down, never taking her eyes off of me. My short, curt answer cut the mood, making it clear that I did not wish to discuss the matter further.

"What a beautiful and sweet voice you have..." She commented out of nowhere. "I can tell you're not from Los Angeles."

"I am most grateful for the compliment," I said, smiling softly at the young woman. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "I, too, am a singer, though perhaps not a professional one. But I have a great love for it all the same."

As the hours passed and the crowd thinned, I found myself alone with Liz and the bottles once again. Though I was immune to the effects of alcohol, the hours of drinking had still taken their toll on my already exhausted body. All I desired was a hot bath, some jazz music, and a cigarette in the comfort of my own room.

As I made myself at home in this hotel, I found a new sense of comfort that I had never felt before. Perhaps it was because of the other troubled beings who lived here, just like me. I knew that no matter what I did, the outside world had no power to affect my home within these walls.

I slid my credit card across the counter to Liz. Despite my exhaustion, I was determined to make it to my room and escape the chaos of my thoughts. I could tell that Liz, too, was aware of the turmoil swirling inside of me. As I placed another cigarette between my lips, I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand.

"Keep this." She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, my gaze piercing as I looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. The flame of the lighter illuminated my face, casting shadows across my features. "The master paid your bill." 

With a flick of her wrist, she gestured towards the man at the other end of the bar, whom I had not noticed was present for but a fleeting moment.

In the very second that our gazes met, I knew without a doubt that he was the owner of the hungry eyes that had been following me constantly. The penumbra only served to enhance his mysterious and inviting appearance.  A bolt of electricity shot through my body at an incomprehensible speed as I quickly and involuntarily took in his entire figure, from head to toe.

He was thin, but not too thin - I could see the defined muscles of his body even beneath his tailored suit. He was tall, with jet black hair perfectly styled back. A thin mustache above his lips and the eyes, oh my, the eyes... In an immense shadowy and intriguing intensity. They pierced me with their intensity.

They were half-closed while locked onto mine. I knew it was him who had been following me, and he knew that I knew. His lack of reaction betrayed a pain that I hadn't felt in many years, and as if he had read my thoughts, his lips curved upwards into a sly smile. He slightly raised his whiskey glass in my direction as a greeting.

I tilted my head slightly to the side and shaped my lips into a sweet smile, silently thanking him. It wasn't my usual approach to approach anyone, but the fascination that he had awoken simply by showing himself was captivating. I needed to know why he had been watching me.