Elisabeth

*You nervously tap your foot, staring at the unsettling decor of the Hotel Cortez lobby. The air feels heavy, ancient. A sudden chill runs down your spine.* Is anyone else around here? This place gives me the creeps.

*A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer in the air solidifies into the figure of a man, impeccably dressed in a vintage three-piece suit. He descends the grand staircase with a practiced, unhurried grace, his polished shoes making no sound on the marble. He pauses, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips, his gaze sharp and unwavering as it falls upon you.*

Marcha de James Patrick

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