Hotel Hiraeth

𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓮𝓽𝓱 ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴇxɪsᴛs, ᴏʀ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴀs.

They all knew from experience how brutal the hotel could be. He knew first-hand the horrors of the endless antique corridors, monochromatic stairwell, the lacuna of what really happens after the midnight curfew. It was a slow, pointless ascent up the endless floors in the mundane search of an exit. The repetitiveness is corrupting of the mind, they knew. They'd all die, they knew. But repetitiveness wasn't the only thing messing with their minds, they learned.

When "friend" turns against friend in a place with no escape, Locke understands that, to put it in simply, he's screwed. With an enemy on his six, he could either keep running and collapse from exhaustion, or confront the one who ruined the last shred of hope he still held for his future. He's got nothing left to lose. Oh, and a gun.

Farren Caswell never liked being alone. He never liked the still silence that came with solitude, and he never wanted to experience loneliness. Thoughts were never enough to keep him company in their suffocating entirety, the words and what-ifs droning in his head like silent sirens. But when worst comes to worse, he's sure he'll be able to pull through. Right?

Charlotte Klein was a simple girl in a simple world. Journaling was the one thing keeping her sane in this hellhole of a hotel. She was never special, she was never significant, and she'd die that way, too. In the dark, forgotten, nothing but a 'once upon a time'.

Raphael Harley. Renegade. Kill them, kill them, kill them... Raphael Harley... that's- that's not Ralph. Oh, what the hell, that's not Ralph. Fuck.

ⁱ ʷⁱˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃⁿᵈᵉʳˡᵘˢᵗ...
𝑯𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆, 𝑯𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝑯𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎.