As the final notes of Isabella's song dissolved into the night, the Velvet Moon erupted in applause and cheers—a symphony of appreciation for the captivating performance. Isabella addressed the parting crowd, her voice soaked in finality, glowing under the stage's lingering lights. "Thank you so much, everyone, for attending tonight. I hope you have a great midnight," she called, ending her words with a playful kiss blown into the crowd, sparking another wave of excitement.
I checked the time—12:40 a.m.
As the audience gradually dispersed, I stood from my seat and made my way toward my room on the second floor. The corridor was dim and silent, with the air still holding fragments of Isabella's melody. Unexpectedly, I crossed paths with her—the songstress herself—walking calmly to her own room. I froze, unsure of how to react.
She noticed me first. "Hello, are you also heading to your room?" she asked warmly.
I nodded quickly. "Y-Yes."
She smiled, the tension dissolving from my shoulders. "No need to be nervous. I'm just a regular person. The performances and recordings are just part of the show. If you think I'm special, then so are you."
Her sincerity took me off guard. I stammered, "Goodnight, Mis—ahem, I mean, Isabella. Have a good night's sleep."
She giggled and waved as she turned into her corridor. I followed shortly after but was stopped by a large security guard blocking the hallway.
"Do you have a card? Or are you just another broke guy sneaking in?" he sneered.
I fumbled into my pocket and retrieved the reddish card with a hint of violet. The guard's mocking smile vanished.
"Ah, apologies, sir. I didn't realize," he said hastily, stepping aside.
The glass card glinted under the hallway light. It wasn't just for access—it meant something here. Among the card tiers at the Velvet Moon, mine was rare. There were ordinary black and white cards, then the more prestigious red-and-yellow, reddish-violet like mine, pure black with white crystal, and the fabled rainbow crystal card.
My aunt, oddly familiar with this place, had sent it to me for my birthday.
I entered my room and collapsed onto the bed, the door sliding shut behind me. Sleep took me quickly.
—
A sudden noise stirred me from unconsciousness.
I groggily sat up, rubbing my eyes. It felt like only an hour had passed. The digital clock blinked 3:23 a.m.
I crept to the door, pressing my ear against it. Voices—two of them, maybe—murmured just beyond the corridor, but their words slipped through as nothing more than muffled static.
I whispered to myself, "There are two people… It sounded serious. But I can't tell what they're saying."
I returned to bed, unsettled. Before I could sink back into sleep, a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence.
I bolted upright.
The clock read 4:10 a.m.
Throwing the door open, I stepped out into a hallway of confused and cautious faces. Others had emerged too, drawn by the scream. Eyes flickered around in nervous exchanges.
"Did anyone figure out where it came from?" I asked.
A girl near my door gestured. "I think it came from the right."
Two others stood nearby: a gentleman in formal wear nodded. "Yes, from the right side."
A disheveled boy wearing only a shirt rubbed his head. "I didn't hear anything. I had ear pads in."
Across the hall, a drunken young man leaned against his doorway, looking half-awake. "Didn't hear any shit," he slurred before stumbling back inside.
Another girl, eyes dull with sleep, murmured, "I'm going back to sleep," and vanished into her room.
I offered, "Should we check where the scream came from?"
The half-dressed boy waved me off. "Nah, I'm going back to bed."
The gentleman scoffed. "People scream for all sorts of nonsense. Not my business."
Only the girl from earlier hesitated, then said shyly, "I could come with you… if you want."
"Sure," I said, grateful for the company.
We headed down the left corridor, past the drunk's door. We peeked into empty hallways and listened for anything more. The silence was suffocating.
Then, in the pale lighting of the hallway ahead, we saw her.
A woman stood in front of a door etched with silver and obsidian patterns. She wore a deep red gown that shimmered like spilled wine. Her gloved hand held a folded fan; a black choker hugged her neck.
She smiled faintly, as if she had been expecting us.
"Good morning," she said. "Or is it still night? Time feels different in the Velvet Moon."
We stopped in our tracks. There was something about her—graceful, polished, yet strangely theatrical.
"Are you… a guest here too?" I asked.
She opened her fan with a soft flick. "You could say that. But I play a… slightly different role."
Her eyes studied us carefully. "Curious guests wandering the halls after a scream. How poetic."
My companion whispered, "Who are you?"
She stepped forward slowly. "I am the Hostess. That name will do for now."
The name lingered in the air, like perfume.
"You heard the scream, right?" I asked.
"Of course. And others did, too. But screams are just signals, darling. The real game begins when people start to listen."
There was a weight to her words, like a challenge or even a warning.
"Be careful what you seek," the Hostess said. "Answers can be dangerous. And in this place… everyone has a role."
Then she turned away, disappearing into the hallway with a rustle of silk.
I stood frozen for a while, her presence still clinging to the air.
This wasn't just a hotel... The play has started.