Luma walked into the guest room, and the door closed silently behind her. She stood for a moment, completely still, in awe of what she saw. The room was not what she expected. It was not a dull manager's office she entered previously, but a space of serene luxury. The walls themselves were carved in intricate floral patterns with fluted Roman columns at each corner, reminiscent of a temple rather than a guest room.
In the center was a coffee table made of a seamless sheet of crystalline glass with legs of polished, black metal that gleamed in the soft light. The chairs around it were of an unfamiliar design, rounded and soft, unlike any wooden chairs or benches she had ever seen. The air was clean and smelled faintly of something sweet and floral, a stark contrast to the sharp, earthy odor of the undead she had smelled earlier. It was an environment designed to disarm, and Luma felt her professional guard waver for the first time since her arrival.
