Day 4 - Room 54
🎲 Event: 10, Reflection
Behind the door, I find that other me, the version of myself with her scales and tail and gleaming yellow eyes. She seems in even higher spirits than before, twirling around and humming a tune as she wipes the tables and collects the sheets. She doesn't seem to notice me immediately, so caught up in her work.
➕ The last time I encountered her, it did not end well. I am wary that her good mood won't last for long.
➕ I need to ask her about the dream I had last night.
➕ My fingers wrap around the broken pencil in my pocket. I clear my throat, finally drawing the other me's attention with a start, and display the trash in my palm. "Have you been mistreated for your nature too?" I ask.
⚙️ Broken pencil removed from inventory
🎲 Result: 8 (5+3)
She tilts her head, then reaches into her own pocket and, with eyebrows knitted in sudden confusion, produces an identically broken pencil. "How did you do that?" she says. "I have never been mistreated. I am loved, 'nature' and all."
"But our other side is so destructive."
"Yours is, maybe. Mine is a thing of beauty. Begone, demon, I have work to do."
The other me turns back to her duties. Any other day, I might have left it at that -- the guests are none of my business outside the duties I uphold for their sake. But this time, I find my fist closing around that pencil. And before I can think twice, I've thrown it at my doppelganger. It bounces harmlessly off her shoulder and clatters to the floor.
"There is no beauty in this," I say with a snarl, albeit a human one. "The curse leads to nothing but suffering and death. You are the demon here."
She looks at me with pity in her eyes. "The Liberty Motel takes all in the end," she says, and the breath leaves my lungs. "Death follows our kind wherever we go. You'll be much happier if you learn to embrace it."
Shaking, I ask if she ever had a sister, or a nephew. And the other me only smiles, showing rows of blood-stained fangs.
I nearly trip over my feet in my haste to leave the room.
💤 Marked 1 Tire
Day 4 - Room 42
🎲 Event: 7, The Written Word
The next room is quiet, and for a moment I am relieved to have a brief respite from the motel's unruly guests. But the sight beyond the door takes my breath away all the same. Nearly illegible handwriting covers every inch of the room, ceiling to floor, wall to wall. The letters are dusty black and heavily smudged. The words I can make out whisper doom: submission before the unholy hand of the one true god, death by fire for the unbelievers who read this message.
➕ The letters are written in charcoal and ash. They stain my fingers black with the barest touch.
➕ I can hear the messages reverberating in my head, as if someone else is whispering them to me directly.
🎲 Result: 10 (8+2)
The voice of the writing grows louder and clearer with every moment I spend reading it. I begin to hear the secrets hidden underneath, the ones the writer did not want their god to hear. There are promises of salvation hidden here. A path forward for those cursed to follow the Ash into oblivion.
At the whispers' urging, I take up the stick of compressed charcoal tucked away under the pillow.
⚙️Compressed charcoal added to inventory
💤 Marked 1 Tire
Day 4 - Room 14
🎲 Event: 5, Surprisingly Stark
Another quiet room, another with nothing to tidy but a single wax-sealed envelope.
➕ I feel more at ease this time than with the previous two letters. It is likely I am alone.
➕ This room was certainly occupied before; someone had to have left this letter.
➕ The charcoal I found in the previous room calls to me here. Perhaps I could use it to write a reply?
⚙️ Compressed charcoal removed from inventory
🎲 Result: 12 (9+3)
Just as I suspected, the seal breaks easily, and the letter inside is meant for me.
Dear Annabella,
I confess I wasn't sure if I would ever hear from you again. It was such a struggle to find you, and everyone I encountered who knew of the Liberty Motel advised me to stay far away from it. I would have met with you in person if I could. I miss you dearly, sister. I hope your work is treating you well.
Alexander is keeping busy. He hasn't found time for a partner amidst his work, but his efforts improve the lives of so many people every day. You two are alike in that respect, always so occupied with prioritizing the needs of others. I've passed along your message. He says he loves you too, and he hopes you'll come home some day.
I'm afraid I don't recall an accident with fire. Are you sure the motel isn't twisting your memories after so long spent in such a place?
Anastasia
I stare at the final paragraph, not sure what to make of it. Could my sister's memories have been clouded as mine were? I locate the room's notepad and take up the compressed charcoal, trying to recall as many details of the incident as I can in case it helps stir her thoughts.
I begin to write. But as I do, my hand seizes and moves in a different way from how I'd intended. New words flow from the charcoal. My vision blurs, but my hand continues. My thoughts come sluggishly. The scent of lavender fills the room.
After what feels like hours, my eyesight suddenly crystallizes, the words before me thrown into sharp clarity. Rather than a reply, I seem to have written a letter to myself.
Dear Annabella,
Do not believe its lies. Destroy the cage of your soul before it's too late.
There isn't any signature. The charcoal was meant to give me salvation from the Ash... is that who is lying to me? But then, what is the lie? And the 'cage of my soul'? My head aches. My one scaled hand throbs. I can still smell the lavender.
Day 4 - Room 43
🎲 Event: 8, Deja Vu
As I double-check the assignments I've been given today, I realize this room is next door to the one with walls covered in smudged black writing. I can't help but feel that the information I received through that room's gift was critically important, but how? Will this room hold the answers? My palms prickle with sweat as I reach for the doorknob and turn it with a soft creak.
Pillars of fire blaze before me once again. The walls of the motel are no more; this wood cracks and burns, falling apart at the seams under the oppressive heat. And yet, none of it burns me. I am free to step forward and face what is once again in the center of the inferno.
The girl. The one with the blonde hair and the summer dress. Like before, I part the flames and kneel at her side. Her body is less destroyed this time, more recognizable. There is something strange about her hands: one is curled in a loose fist, and the other is stained black. I rub my fingers against hers, and the dark substance flakes off at my touch. Charcoal?
I carefully part the clenched fingers of her other hand. Inside is an empty sachet bag. My sachet. The one that contained the lavender.
The girl's body is slowly melting in the flames like so much candle wax, but I lean in closer, examining her under the weight of my rising heartbeat. She is taller than I remember before. Her cheeks lack the childlike softness. The person before me is no girl, but a woman of childbearing age. Had I simply misremembered the details? Or had my mind subconsciously altered them to prevent them from doing me harm?
My fingers graze her face. I can make out her features this time. They are familiar to me. But they harken to more memories than just the incident so many years ago. I have seen this face many times before. The family resemblance alone would be enough to turn my stomach.
Anastasia. My sister. My precious sister.
My vision swims. My hands tremble. The fire roars around me. I remember her laugh. The meals we shared. The stories I read to her. The argument. Losing control. Flames everywhere, spinning, climbing the walls. Claiming her. Taking her life.
She was my only sister. And I killed her.
My throat seizes, and a sob rattles my body as I curl over hers as if to protect it from further damage. When did this happen? I can barely remember. Through the raging hurricane my thoughts have become, I remember the letters I received in her name. One of them told me it's been fifteen years since I left from the motel. But it couldn't have been Anastasia who wrote that. She's dead. She's been dead.
My sister. My sister...
I don't know how long I remain there, hunched over Anastasia's body as it slowly crumbles to ash. The flames dare not harm me; I was the one who gave them life, and I could snuff them out just the same. My scaled hand clenches, but I am able to hold my other side back. Eventually, the tears slow to a stop.
I have to keep moving. I have a job to do -- but not for the motel. I must fight for my own sake, and for the sake of my remaining loved ones. I will defeat the Ash's curse one way or another. The Liberty Motel will not make me into a beast.
⚙️ Fighting spirit added to inventory
Day 4 - Room 23
🎲 Event: 7, The Written Word
Despite my newfound drive, I must continue with my regular duties. When I first came to the motel, it was impressed upon me unrelentingly that some rules must never be broken. Each room I've been assigned must be attended to. With the horrors I've seen already, I do not wish to invite further harm on myself from diverting from the path.
That said, my heart beats faster when I approach the next room, even though it's quiet. Inside, the sight is familiar, yet subtly different from before: messages are etched into the room itself from floor to ceiling, the words marching in more organized lines than the swirling scrawl I encountered earlier today. It's as if the room itself is an enormous scroll, unrolled and ready for anyone meticulous enough to make their way through every word.
🌫️ As I look closer, I realize the writing was not made with charcoal or any similar tool. They were burned directly into the wood. My touch has no effect.
➕ Despite my best efforts, the words slowly draw me into a trance as I read, a chorus of unholy whispers sounding in my ears. They speak of imminent doom.
➖ It is not my first time encountering similar writing today. I have a bad feeling about this one.
🎲 Result: 6 (6+0)
The whispers grow louder and louder until I can no longer understand the words themselves. My head pounds. My vision grows faint. I squeeze my hands over my ears, but they do not block out the voices. Staggering, I turn and flee from the room.
With distance, the whispers grow quiet again, but a single phrase remains wedged in my subconscious. It floats to the surface at every idle moment, endlessly distracting.
The Liberty Motel takes all in the end.
⚙️ Whispers added to inventory
💤 Marked 1 Tire
Day 4 - Overnight
Though my mind is buzzing with newfound determination, my body does eventually succumb to exhaustion and I must find a place to rest. The softness of the bed drags my body downwards and grips it tightly, squeezing out its remaining energy until I slip into a deep slumber. My last waking thought is a silent prayer that this rest will energize me for the battles to come.
I hear the whispers. They swirl around me on the breeze, rising to a hissing crescendo.
The Liberty Motel takes all in the end. The Liberty Motel takes all in the end. The Liberty Motel takes all in the end.
Then, silence.
I am in a darkened room. The exposed wood and antiquated decor are familiar to me by now, but the shadows are long, reaching out like hands, lying in wait to seize my ankles and drag me away.
There is a man in front of me. He is middle-aged, and wears a worn brown cap. Pale blond hair pokes out from the edges. I take a step towards him. My claws sink into his chest and rend his flesh. Blood sings on my tongue. The man screams a name. "Annabella!" he howls. "It's me! It's--"
My fangs rip out his throat. The man in the cap gurgles, blood foaming in his mouth. His fists swing feebly into my armored chest for a few moments longer, until he is lost to the world.
I blink. I am human again. The taste of copper still fills my mouth, and I spit several times to the floor in a desperate attempt to rid myself of it. The man in the cap lays before me, much of his body torn to shreds. I look at his blond hair. And in his face, I see...
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no..."
My heart thumps in my chest, so hard that I worry it will break free from my ribs. I try to take a breath, but it doesn't come. My lungs won't fill. The air fills with rancid smoke.
Alexander.
"It can't be," I say. "This man is too old. Alexander was just a boy when I saw him last. It's only been fifteen years..."
But as I speak it, I know it not to be true. The letters from Anastasia were never real. How long? How long has it been?
Finally. I've found you.
A scream leaps into my throat. I clamp my hands over my mouth to silence it. The walls melt into the darkness, and in their place, the shadows curl in on themselves to form blurry yet recognizable shapes. The arch of a forehead, sunken cheekbones, the impression of a nose and chin. Eye sockets that fill only with the faintest motes of light.
I've seen this face in my dreams before. The specter that cursed me to be this way. The Ash.
"B- Begone, spirit." My jaw trembles. "Leave me here."
You have questions. I have answers.
Its voice clots and sticks in my ears like curdled milk. I cover them with my hands, but it does nothing to stop the sound. The sickly sweet smell of gladiolus flowers fills the air, and my breaths come too shallow. "You have nothing," I whisper.
You have been here for decades, Annabella. Frozen in time like the rest of this place. But the outside world marches on.
"This isn't Alexander!" I shriek, my voice suddenly hoarse. "This is an old man! A stranger! I didn't-- I couldn't have--"
It is. And you did.
I shake my head, hands still clamped over my ears. "You're lying. Begone! You aren't wanted here!"
I am.
"No! No, no!" I turn this way and that, searching for a way out, but in every direction there is only darkness. The floor of the motel room is singed, the edges glowing like burning coals.
You may have fled here to escape me, but your people called to me with their rituals. All humans desire the power I can grant. And now, my influence here is finally strong enough to finish what I started.
I can't take it anymore. I turn and run, the noise of my shoes striking wood echoing into the shadows. Even when I leave the bounds of the room and enter the infinite blackness, my feet continue to find solid ground.
Acrid smoke hits my nose and I cough hoarsely, doubling over, nearly tripping and falling. Somehow, I find the strength to keep running. I must escape. I must flee this nightmare and find a world where Alexander and his mother are still alive.
Fire ignites all around me. Towering columns of flames obscure my peripheral vision, closing in at either side, the flames flicking out towards me like the tongues of massive serpents. My eyes water. My throat burns. Oppressive heat singes my skin. My arms and legs keep pumping, muscles screaming for a respite.
The face of the Ash appears in front of me.
I scream and try to pivot, but my foot catches on the frilled skirt of my uniform and I collapse to the shadowy ground. The flames close in around me. They are everywhere. I pull in my arms and legs, trying to get away from the heat, but it only draws closer by the moment.
My body twists and contorts. I hear my spine crack as it lengthens. Scales break through my skin and fangs fill my mouth. In a final burst of effort, I call out to the flames and bid them to retreat, but they don't listen. I am becoming a beast. And this time, it will be final.
Annabella.
I shake my head. A guttural roar comes out of my throat.
Annabella. Listen.
The voice is different from before, whisper-quiet yet tantalizingly familiar. I strain my ears to hear it.
You must destroy the cage of your soul.
I try to respond, to ask questions, but my voice is lost. The cage of my soul... I have heard that phrase before. But what could it mean? What could it...
The smell of lavender fills my nose.
With a twisting serpentine arm, I reach into the pocket of my dress. My claws close around something round yet multifaceted, about the size of my palm. I pull the object out.
It is a polished ruby. The one I found when I left my sachet of lavender with my sister's body.
The fire around me twists and begins to spin in a raging cyclone. I feel the Ash's trepidation, and in that moment I understand what I must do.
I raise the ruby into the air. The Ash howls in defiance, its pungent voice like a blade in my ears.
I swing my arm down as hard as I can. The ruby shatters into hundreds of glittering pieces.
Darkness falls.
Day 5 - Room ??
When I wake up, I am alone.
I check my pockets, and they are empty.
⚙️ Large ruby removed from inventory
I turn my thoughts inward, and my mind is clear. Even my other side has fallen silent.
⚙️ Whispers removed from inventory
I check my assignments for the day out of habit. And yet, for the first time in what I now know to be decades, I feel nothing for this place. No sense of duty toward its cause, nor desperation to stay under its protection. Not even any eagerness to unravel its mysteries.
I clasp my hands together and send a silent word of thanks to my sister, Anastasia. And an apology to her son, my nephew, Alexander. I know I will spend the rest of my life atoning for my mistakes.
But first, I find a sheet of paper and take up a pen. And I begin to write one final letter.
This is a notice of my resignation from the position of housekeeper at the Liberty Motel.
...
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