Chapter 35: The Hotel of the Forgotten Souls

The door creaked open to a blast of heat, color, and sound. Clive blinked, disoriented. The transition from the quiet, frostbitten courtyard to this vibrant interior felt like waking from death into a carnival dream.

"...What the hell?"

Before them sprawled a lavish, impossible hotel lobby glowing under a violet chandelier. Marble pillars stretched toward a mirrored ceiling, and every inch of the grand hall pulsed with life. Laughter, moans, and music tumbled through the air like perfume, curling through senses dulled by pain.

And behind the reception counter stood her.

A woman—or something that wore the shape of one. She was more than beautiful. She was stunning in a way that made the world feel muted around her. Her skin was rich obsidian, flawless and gleaming like polished jet. She moved like silk poured over curves designed to be worshiped. Her eyes were pools of gold, irises like molten sunfire, set beneath thick lashes. Her lips were full, parted slightly in a knowing smirk. Midnight-black hair fell in a long, cascading wave down her back, curling at the tips like it obeyed no wind but her will.

Her uniform—if it could be called that—was a robe of deep crimson silk that clung to her form like a second skin. It fell open just enough to hint at what lay beneath, wrapping sensuously around her waist, cinched with a golden sash that glittered with stardust. She smelled like honeyed smoke and something darker, older.

She leaned forward, cleavage deep and deliberate. "Welcome to the Last Whim, travelers. Care for a room... or something else?"

Clive coughed.

Grimpel whistled. "Well, I'll be pickled. This place has more sin per square inch than a succubus convention."

Nylessa stepped forward, lips tightening. "Who are you?"

"Call me Virelle," the receptionist purred. Her voice was warm velvet dipped in mischief. "And you? You look like you could use rest. And a drink. Maybe both at once."

Behind her, the hotel sprawled like a living labyrinth of temptation and color. Hallways diverged into shadows lit by golden lanterns, each one leading somewhere stranger than the last.

To the left: a shimmering doorway that pulsed with light and noise. Inside, the Gambling Arena roared with activity. Massive tables of bone and crystal held games of chance unlike any the living world had conceived. Dice carved from dragon teeth. Cards painted in blood. Wagers paid not just in coin, but in years, memories, and truths. Half-rotted skeletons, cigar-chomping imps, laughing demons, and exhausted humans played side by side. Every win was celebrated with floating sparks; every loss echoed with a whisper only the loser could hear.

To the right: the Drinking Lounge, a velvet-draped sanctuary of glass and indulgence. Tables hovered a few inches off the floor, drinks floated to them of their own accord—cocktails that shimmered like nebulae, brews that whispered to the drinker, absinthe that changed color depending on your mood. The bartenders were shadowy silhouettes with eyes like stars, and behind the bar, bottles blinked like constellations.

Above: the Smoking Joint, a cloud-wreathed terrace buzzing with hushed conversation and lazy laughter. Candles flickered in sconces shaped like ribs, casting dancing lights over guests reclined in velvet armchairs. Hookahs belched fragrant smoke in hues of crimson, gold, and jade. The air was thick with scents of clove, lavender, spice, and stranger things. Shadows here spoke in riddles, and every inhale brought a memory not your own.

Past the elevator, a set of golden double doors led to the Banquet Hall, where food overflowed in decadent mounds. Roasted beasts glazed in shimmering sauces, fruits that bled juice the color of rubies, wines older than some gods. The music here was a frenzy—flutes carved from bone, drums that beat like heartbeats, strings that sang of lost desires. Eyeless musicians played while men and women, half-naked and masked, danced with wild abandon.

Tucked in a glowing corner near the back, the Retro Arcade crackled and buzzed. Neon signs flickered overhead. Rows of game machines—some familiar, some impossible—lit up the area in dancing lights. Grimpel's jaw dropped.

"...Do I spy a Death Royale X? Gods, I haven't played that since I had skin!"

Beside the gaming cabinets, people competed in VR duels where their bodies danced and twisted midair, connected to the games through floating sigils.

Selvara's eyes were wide. "This place is unreal."

Nylessa approached the counter warily, her fingers grazing the surface. It felt warm. Solid. Too real. "Is this a trick?"

Virelle's golden eyes sparkled. "Not a trick. It's as real as I am. You are not the first to crawl through pain and find us. You won't be the last."

Clive looked around. There were people here. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Some wore armor. Some robes. Some looked dead. Others looked... erased. Forgotten.

They weren't illusions.

A pale boy chased a paper kite through the lobby, his bare feet slapping on tile.

A woman with no face sipped wine in the corner, humming a lullaby to no one.

A man with dozens of watches around his neck sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed.

These were the Forgotten Souls. Not hostile. Not helpful. Just... here.

"We'll take rooms," Clive said. "How many do you have?"

Virelle laughed. "Only two, I'm afraid. First come, first served."

Nylessa immediately turned to Selvara. "We're bunking."

Selvara didn't argue. She still looked pale, but her lips twitched faintly.

"Grimpel, Clive?" Nylessa asked.

Grimpel slapped Clive on the back. "Hope you don't snore. Or fart brimstone."

Clive grunted. "I'll keep a blade under my pillow."

Verrin raised a hand. "Don't mind me. I think I'll explore. This place is more interesting than sleep."

Nylessa looked at him sharply. "You sure?"

He smiled faintly. "Roommates make me... twitchy."

Virelle handed them two keys—old brass, heavy enough to anchor dreams.

As they turned to leave, she leaned closer to Clive, whispering so close her breath tickled his ear. "Dreams don't die here. But be careful. Some dreams grow teeth."

As the group split up and wandered the impossible hotel, laughter and shadows followed them down every corridor. The Veils were behind them. For now.

But the Hotel of Forgotten Souls had its own rules.

And not all of them were kind.