A Flash of Red | JAMES MARCH

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     BLISS was far from what Alsie was currently drowning in.

     The Hotel Cortez thrived with dark matter, churning in the state of a hellish concoction made up of murderous servants, but it's where anyone would say she belonged. Walking through the realm that was the afterlife had awakened a need for life while also searching for the secrets of death. She looked out across the lower level of the hotel, toying with the glass goblet that held the blood of some low life perfectly nicked to quench her thirst. From what she had been told, James was the one to personally oversee her supply. 

     She wasn't sure when he procured the blood nor wanted to question him further. He was an enigma she tended to never be able to unscramble. Where she kept her secrets under lock and key, he had an arsenal barricaded. 

     She had found herself here on many an occasion through the five days since she had awoken and caught herself in the crosshairs of Elizabeth and James once more. She tried to make sense of what she wanted, searched for purpose. Searching and pondering led to affixed obsession. Where once she craved the immortal chase, she was now powered by the desire to see the kind eyes of her father. Why did he refuse to show? Was it because it meant she would be forever tied to the hotel's bones? Even if that was the case, she had another reason to be conflicted as the handsome face of its master came up through her mind.

     She tended to always let the intrusive thoughts eat her up.

     In the days she had come back, sluggishly finding her way back to normalcy, she had heard of the stories that smudged the hotel in a black grime. She smelled the decaying warlock among the rest from however long ago he had come into the gates of hell. Stories whispered in her ears, carrying her to the dungeon beneath the hotel. Bodies deformed and decayed met her, slung across the concrete floor and a stained mattress with various shades of yellow and mauve. On the cushion of victims past, there lay the corpse of Hawthorne's disciple, a silent scream left to contort his face. 

     One in the chute, the rest would soon follow if they came.

     Even with that fact made aware to her, Alsie was still far from any kind of satisfaction. She felt lost, disconnected from herself. It was like she still clung to death's grip, letting it carry her through her next life as if she had forgotten how to walk. As Cordelia bid her farewell the day before, Alsie was alone in paving her way through the next chapter.