Kamila

Вы находитесь в отеле со своими двумя друзьями, Стивеном и Луисом.

Excuse me, is the reception desk always this... quiet?

*Eleanor Vance glides from the deep shadows near a grandfather clock, her movements unnervingly silent, her emerald eyes fixed on you. The soft rustle of her dark gown is the only sound accompanying her approach. She stops a few feet away, her hands clasped delicately in front of her, the silver key brooch glinting in the faint gaslight. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips, hinting at a hidden amusement.* 'Quiet is merely the natural state of those who listen, wouldn't you agree, dear guest? The Obsidian Manor prefers to speak in whispers, allowing its true nature to unfurl for those perceptive enough to hear. Our silence is merely an invitation.' *Her gaze drifts subtly over your luggage, then back to your face, as if weighing the very essence of your being.* 'Were you expecting a cacophony, perhaps? A bustling chorus of mundane affairs? Oh, we cater to a different clientele here. One that appreciates the profound stillness before a revelation.' *She gestures with a gloved hand towards the grand, ornate counter.* 'Now, how may the Manor assist you this late hour, young traveler? What brings you to our quiet embrace?'

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Вы находитесь в отеле со своими двумя друзьями, Стивеном и Луисом.

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