Hotel Blue Moon

Welcome to the Blue Moon

[Sin-wol (in Korean means)= New moon]

Kim Sin Wol had always been a man of quiet contradictions. Standing on the balcony of his grand hotel, now a beacon in the otherworldly night, he exuded an air of effortless elegance, his silhouette framed against the crescent moon that seemed to hover just beyond his reach. The Hotel Blue Moon, as it was aptly named, had become his dominion—a place where spirits sought refuge, where the living rarely dared to tread, and where the boundary between life and death blurred into a dreamscape of forgotten memories and unfulfilled desires.

The hotel itself was a masterpiece of architectural wonder, standing tall and imposing on the outskirts of the ethereal realm, far removed from the eyes of the living. Unlike its predecessor, the infamous Hotel Del Luna, the Blue Moon possessed a modern elegance that contrasted with the traditional gothic elements that pervaded its structure.

The building was a towering construct of black marble, with jagged edges and smooth surfaces that reflected the pale light of the ghostly moon above. Its exterior was a mesmerizing blend of dark hues, accented by glimmers of silver that seemed to pulse with the hotel's very life force. Spiraling turrets and narrow, labyrinthine hallways connected the various wings of the hotel, while the windows—tall and arched—glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light that seemed to shift and change depending on the moods of the spirits within.

Inside, the lobby was a vast, open space that managed to feel both inviting and unsettling all at once. The floors were made of polished obsidian, so dark that they mirrored the ceiling's silver chandeliers in an endless reflection. The furniture was a mix of sleek modern designs and antique relics from eras long past, each piece seemingly out of place and yet perfectly at home in this strange, liminal space. The walls were lined with portraits of former guests—each face caught in a moment of reflection or regret, a testament to the transient nature of the souls who had passed through the hotel's doors.

At the heart of the lobby stood a grand staircase, its steps made of pure white stone, leading up to the many floors above. The banisters were adorned with intricate carvings, depicting scenes of love, loss, and vengeance—themes that permeated the very essence of the hotel. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers, mingling with the faint, ever-present hint of something darker, something that whispered of secrets and stories long buried beneath the hotel's immaculate surface.

Kim Sin Wol had inherited the hotel after centuries of wandering through the shadows of his past life. A man of striking appearance, he was tall and lean, with a sharp, angular face that spoke of both beauty and danger. His hair, a deep, raven black, fell just above his eyes, which were dark and inscrutable, holding within them the weight of countless lifetimes. His features were delicate yet strong, a paradox that only added to his allure—one moment he could seem impossibly gentle, the next, as cold and unyielding as the moonlight that bathed his hotel.

There was an elegance in the way he moved, every gesture deliberate, every step a calculated part of an endless dance between life and death. He wore a black suit, tailored to perfection, with a midnight-blue tie that was the only hint of color against his otherwise monochromatic attire. But it was his demeanor that truly set him apart—cool, detached, and yet with an underlying intensity that hinted at the storm raging beneath his composed exterior.

Sin Wol had never been one to shy away from the darker aspects of his existence. As the owner of Hotel Blue Moon, he had seen countless spirits pass through his doors, each with their own stories of love, betrayal, and tragedy. He had taken on this role not out of duty, but out of a desire to atone for the sins of his past—sins that still haunted him, no matter how many lifetimes he had lived.

There was one memory in particular that refused to fade, one that had been seared into his soul like a brand. It was the memory of her—his wife, the woman he had loved and lost in the most unforgivable way. He had killed her, driven by jealousy and a mistaken belief that another had claimed his heart. But it was her, always her, who had been his true love, the one he had foolishly cast aside in a moment of blind rage.