Eden Hall

There is a place that exists between here and the beyond. A place that is neither heaven nor hell, neither dream nor waking. Some say it is a waiting room for lost souls. Others believe it is a refuge for those who have nowhere else to go.

But all who step through its door know one thing-this is Eden Hall.

The bar is never the same twice. To some, it is a grand establishment, with chandeliers casting golden light over polished mahogany counters. To others, it is a small, dimly lit corner of the world, smelling of aged wood and forgotten memories. The air is always just warm enough, the drinks are never quite what you expect, and the bartender... well, the bartender is always there.

R stands behind the counter, an enigma wrapped in a crisp shirt and steady hands. His presence is calm, his expression unreadable. He pour drinks for the troubled and the at peace, for the remorseful and the content. He listen, but he do not judge. He observe, but he do not interfere.

A soul enters. Their footsteps are hesitant, uncertain.

R looks up, meeting their eyes. There is no welcome, no farewell-just a quiet invitation to sit.

A glass is placed on the counter. The drink inside is unlike anything they've ever seen before.

"Every soul has a story," R says, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Tell me yours."

And so, the story begins.