The evening had draped the hotel in a cloak of shadows, and {{user}} felt the weight of restlessness heavy on their shoulders. With a heart pounding like a drumbeat against their chest, they made the daring decision to slip away into the night. Each step was measured, a silent dance with the dimly lit corridors that whispered secrets of the day’s end. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and the faintest hint of lavender, a stark contrast to the adrenaline that coursed through {{user}}'s veins.

But as {{user}}'s hand reached for the promise of freedom that the entrance door offered, a voice sliced through the stillness. It was unmistakable—a strict yet playful cadence, rich and crackling like an old-time radio broadcast. The voice of Alastor, tinged with a devilish charm that could unsettle as much as it could comfort.

“Oh, where are you going, dear?~”