The carriage left me at the entrance of the Grand Haven Hotel, its towering façade gleaming in the glow of the gas lamps, the polished brass fixtures glinting in the humid night air.
I stepped inside, the hush of the grand lobby swallowing me whole, the scent of waxed wood and perfumed linens settling in my lungs. The porter greeted me with a deferential nod, guiding me up the winding staircase toward my suite--a lavishly appointed room on the uppermost floor, away from the noise of the world below.
I should have felt relief at the solitude. Instead, as the door clicked shut behind me, a curious disquiet settled upon my chest.
The chamber was grand, yet eerily still--the four-poster bed draped in dark velvet, the gilded sconces casting elongated shadows along the damask-covered walls. A great window overlooked the city, its flickering lights barely reaching this high.
A basin of cool water sat upon the vanity, and as I unfastened my bodice, I splashed a few drops upon my neck, feeling the damp trickle down the hollow of my collarbone.
I removed the remainder of my garments in a slow, languid haze, draping them over a chair, the silk whispering against itself as it fell. My nightdress clung to me as I slipped beneath the satin sheets, their touch cool, soothing. And yet--there was a tension in my limbs, a hum beneath my skin that would not abate.
I turned upon my side, seeking sleep, but my body betrayed me with its restless yearning.
The air in the room grew thick with warmth, my breath slow, heavy. Somewhere in the periphery of my senses, I felt her.
A woman.
I did not know when she had entered, nor how, but she stood at the foot of my bed, wreathed in shadow and candlelight. Her blonde hair fell over bare shoulders, her lips curled in the faintest of smiles.
