Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
Welcome, Please Follow the Hotel Rules
墨書 Inktalez
The mist wrapped around your ankles like damp, cold fingers, gently entwining yet persistently tugging, making each step feel heavy and slow. Your soles seemed to sink into invisible muck, the sound of your footsteps being swallowed entirely by the thick fog surrounding you. The shadows of the trees flickered in and out of view, torn apart by the mist and time, scattered like a tattered canvas at the edge of your sight.
You tried to remember how long you had been walking, but that feeling slipped through your fingers like fine sand; the harder you tried to recall, the more it blurred: was it a brief journey just begun, or an endless trek that would never conclude? Fragments of images surfaced in your mind—holding a crumpled map, leaving uneven imprints in the mud, and the occasional low whisper of the wind in your ears, sounding both mocking and warning. But they vanished as quickly as they appeared, leaving only a parched throat and a body so weary it felt on the verge of collapse.
You struggled to understand why you were here, but your thoughts felt choked by the fog; the more you strained to grasp them, the more elusive they became. You even forgot who you were. Were you a man or a woman? Young or old? All you were certain of was that overwhelming thirst bordering on despair and the exhaustion that gradually consumed all your senses.
At that moment, your steps faltered before coming to a halt. Ahead, the mist seemed to thin slightly, revealing a faint glimmer of light that flickered like a smile hidden within a dream. You blinked, and that glow became more tangible—a building's outline slowly emerged from the haze, hazy enough to seem like it might vanish at any second. Instinctively, you rubbed your eyes, trying to confirm that you weren’t mistaken.
It was an inn. At least, it looked like one. A two-story wooden structure stood resolutely amidst the fog, its exterior boards dulled by time yet still upright. The light behind the windows flickered gently as if beckoning or testing your resolve. A vintage oil lamp hung from a wooden post on the porch, its light steady at times and swaying at others, leaving you uncertain whether it was truly there or merely an illusion in the mist.
You moved closer, your steps lighter than before as if drawn by that faint light. The nearer you got, the more you sensed an odd atmosphere—as if this building didn’t belong in this forest yet somehow had every right to occupy this space. The doorframe bore several barely discernible letters; they seemed vaguely familiar, but the longer you stared at them, the heavier your head felt.
Standing at the entrance, you suddenly realized your body was trembling involuntarily—not from cold but from an indescribable fear. You tried to glance back, but the fog behind you had thickened like a curtain weighted with lead, swallowing any chance of retreat.
You reached out; when your fingertips brushed against the doorknob, a cold slickness met you as if grasping something alive. In that instant, you almost pulled back your hand but found yourself compelled by an irresistible desire to slowly push open the door. The creaking sound echoed in the fog like a soft sigh from some wild beast.
Inside was a warm glow that starkly contrasted with the chill outside. The soft yellow light illuminated a grand hall covered with deep red carpet; behind the counter stood a figure who seemed to smile in wait for you. Strangely enough, you couldn’t make out her face even though you stood so close that you could almost hear her breathing.
“Welcome home, traveler,” she said softly, her tone gentle yet carrying an undeniable authority. “You look utterly exhausted.”
In that moment, it struck you—she used “home.” But was this truly your home? Or was it… a place from which you could never escape?
Her voice was as soothing as a night breeze brushing against your ear. Following her guidance into the inn, when your first step landed on the deep red carpet, warmth surged from your feet as if long-held cold finally found solace. The light was soft and just right, illuminating wooden walls and low ceilings. A faint scent of wood wafted through the air mingling with an almost imperceptible hint of rust—a blend that brought both comfort and an unsettling sense of unease.
"This will be your sanctuary," her voice was low yet warm, like a delicate thread guiding you through the fog. "Please abide by the rules; they are here to protect you."
As her words faded, she gently placed a key into your hand. It was a heavy metal key, smooth on the surface but worn at the edges from long use, as if it had been held by countless hands. The head of the key bore a strange symbol, neither a number nor any script you recognized, yet you instinctively understood that it belonged to you—or at least, it belonged to you now.
Then, she retrieved a wooden frame from behind the counter and handed it to you. The frame encased a yellowed piece of paper, densely filled with rules. The ornate edges of the frame were blurred by time, with several deep cracks suggesting it had endured many uses and exchanges. You reached out to touch
Comment 0 Comment Count