> Silence settled the moment Ellis vanished behind the corner.
The hallway felt colder without him, though no one could say why.
The five of them remained standing, half-turned toward their rooms but not moving — watching each other like strangers trapped in a dream they all accidentally stepped into.
Leo let out a low whistle, trying to cut the tension. "Okay, that guy has a serious James Bond villain vibe, right? Or like... high society Dracula."
Vera smirked, arms crossed. "He's definitely seen too many gothic horror films. But I have to admit, it's got style."
Ivy rubbed her arms, staring down the dim corridor. "It's just... odd. The letters. The personalized rooms. There's no staff. No cars in the lot. Why are we even here at the same time?"
"Coincidence," Mason muttered flatly.
"I don't believe in coincidences," Ivy replied.
They all looked at one another again — this time longer, like trying to decide who among them knew more than they were letting on.
Then Dr. Asha Bloom spoke, her voice soft but sure.
"It's understandable to feel unsettled," she said kindly. "New environments always amplify uncertainty. Especially ones designed to feel... timeless."
She gave a gentle smile, folding her gloved hands in front of her.
"But we're not in danger. We're simply guests. Unfamiliar space, unfamiliar people — that's all. Let's not feed the paranoia before dinner, hmm?"
"You sound like a therapist," Vera said, narrowing her eyes.
Asha tilted her head slightly. "I used to be. It never really leaves you."
Leo nodded. "Makes sense. You've got that calming 'don't-panic-it's-just-your-childhood-trauma' tone."
Asha chuckled lightly. "Guilty."
For a moment, the tension loosened just enough. But the silence that followed wasn't comfort — it was restraint. Like everyone was waiting for someone else to act first.
Mason turned toward his door. "I'm going to unpack."
Ivy followed. "Same."
One by one, they slipped into their rooms, doors closing with soft clicks — except Asha, who lingered a moment longer in the hallway, her eyes lingering down the path Ellis had taken.
Her smile faded, just a little.
Then she, too, disappeared behind her door.
Beneath silent eyes
Vera
Vera's boots clicked softly against the ornate hallway floor as she reached her room. The brass doorknob, cold to the touch, gave way to a warm, amber-lit interior. > Vera's room smelled faintly of cedarwood and old paper.
The walls were deep maroon, with gold-trimmed sconces casting low pools of warm light. An antique writing desk sat near the window, beside a vintage camera on a tripod — not hers.
But it was the artwork that drew her in first.
Two large frames hung on the wall beside the bed. One showed a snowy riverbank — tranquil, if not for the bold smear of red across the untouched snow, leading toward dark water. The other… surreal. A figure fell from a jagged black tear in the sky, surrounded by clawed hands reaching upward like a mass grave yearning for a soul. Vera tilted her head, frowning at the strange pull in her chest. Vera blinked. "Weird," she muttered, raising her phone and snapping a photo. She didn't think much of it. Maybe part of the hotel's "aesthetic." Creepy-chic.
She tossed her coat on the armchair, she reached to her coat's pocket finding her envelope placed on her bed. Ivory paper. Wax seal. No return address.
> Ms. Knox,
Your work in horror is... intimate. You understand the beauty of fear — how it shapes, isolates, exposes.
Hollowpine holds many corners that echo the tone you adore. The abandoned gallery wing. The mirror corridor. The rooftop observatory at night.
You may find more inspiration than you asked for.
I look forward to your impressions.
— E.W.
_ _ _
> She smirked.
"Creepy. But damn good at selling the vibe."
_ _ _
Mason's room, was colder than the others — or maybe he was just imagining it. The heavy oak door opened with a groan, revealing a minimal but masculine space. Deep forest green wallpaper, dark polished floorboards, and an antique oil lamp on the nightstand. But it was the wall art that caught his breath mid-step.
Two frames, simple yet jarring. One depicted a blood-red sky over rooftops, dark birds perched atop gray buildings like silent judges. The other—a misty forest clearing, a lone figure holding a lantern toward trees glowing crimson in the dark. No face. No identity. Just… waiting.
He felt a strange unsettling shiver run through his spine
He dropped his bag and stared at the mirror for a long moment, jaw tense. The mirror stared back — but somehow, it felt like something else was looking through it.
He turned away without checking it again.
His letter waited on the nightstand where he placed it
> Mr. Teller,
Discipline like yours is rare. This mountain is unforgiving, but it offers clarity to those who endure.
The cold here strengthens more than just the body — it sharpens the mind. Endurance isn't just muscle. It's resistance. Pain is proof you're alive.
Push beyond what you've known. And don't look away if the mountain stares back.
You're exactly where you belong.
— E.W.
> Mason didn't react. But his knuckles whitened slightly as he folded the letter.
_ _ _
>As Ivy entered her room, she scanned the room with careful eyes , it was immaculate. Every surface gleamed. The bed was dressed in silks and furs. A decanter of brandy sat untouched on the table.
But Ivy didn't unpack. She began searching.
She checked under the bed, behind the headboard, inside every drawer, even peeled back a bit of the wallpaper behind the desk.
No cameras. No bugs. Nothing.
And yet…
She felt like she was being watched
She looked at the mirror — flawless. She lifted it. Nothing.
She opened the window and kept staring into the empty snowy trail that led to the forest. The back of her neck prickled. Suddenly she heard her name whispered, not from outside, not from the room, but inside her mind, the voice wasn't external… it was hers. She tensed and closed the window thinking she was disturbed because of the long drive to the hotel
She took out the envelope from her pocket and opened it
> Ms. Sinclair,
Some mistakes are buried. Others are locked away. You've spent years building a wall high enough to forget.
Consider this a challenge — not just to rest, but to confront.
No cameras. No judgment. Just you... and the quiet.
If you leave this place unchanged, then I've failed.
— E.W.
> Ivy stared at the page for a long time. Then she tore the letter in half — slowly, quietly — and dropped it into the fireplace.
_ _ _
> Leo's room felt oddly... familiar.
Warm golden light. Posters of old comedy shows — even one he loved as a kid. A small record player sat on a side table with vintage vinyls already cued.
"Damn," he muttered, impressed. "Nice touch."
He took off his coat and flopped onto the bed, grinning at the plushness.
He almost didn't remember the envelope in his hand, until he noticed the handwriting on the front "To Mr. Leo Martinez — For both of you."
His brow furrowed. He opened it slowly.
> Dear Mr. Martinez,
We were deeply moved by your request to stay with us. I understand the cold brings a strange comfort — some say it preserves memories better than time ever could.
Your sister was a bright soul. I'm sure she'd be proud of your resilience.
Let Hollowpine offer you peace, even in the quiet. Sometimes, healing finds us when we stop trying to find it ourselves.
Welcome.
— E.W.
> Leo stared at it.
"...How the hell did he know about her?"
He tried to laugh it off. "Background check. Gotta be. You can't just let random weirdos into a hotel like this…"
_ _ _
> Dr. Asha Bloom's room was serene. Soft colors. Classical music playing faintly from a gramophone. Books lined the walls: philosophy, psychology, trauma studies.
She smiled gently. "He's good," she said aloud.
Her envelope rested atop a leather journal. She picked it up, running her thumb over the seal — not hesitating, not concerned.
> Dr. Bloom,
Each of them is a thread. And you, the weaver.
Consider this an intellectual retreat — a test of perception and empathy. Each guest was selected for a reason. A puzzle of personalities.
You'll understand them. Guide them. That's your gift.
They are yours to study.
And Hollowpine... is yours to unlock.
— E.W.
> Asha folded the letter neatly, expression unreadable. "As expected," she whispered.
When she was done, she tucked the letter into her coat and sat at the desk, folding her hands. Her expression didn't change.
_ _ _
The clock on the hallway wall ticked to eight. A brief moment of silence followed, broken by a faint crackle overhead. Then came the voice — smooth, polite, but distant — echoing through the hotel's old PA system:
> "To all our esteemed guests at Hollowpine Hotel, dinner is now served. Kindly make your way to the dining room. We look forward to your company."
The speaker cut out with a soft pop, leaving behind the hum of quiet hallways and something colder — like the building itself had just spoken