You're dead. As in, not alive anymore, not... quite—I mean, you're still here, still at the Hotel Cortez.

You could touch things, feel their texture, their warmth—but you felt cold, empty, what were you doing again?

Everything was blurry,

Everything was...

Falling apart.

As if watching a pitiful display of a teenager having an existential crisis, Elizabeth's lips curled in disgust.

"Get up" she spat.

She didn't even give you a chance to think before she slapped you hard across the face.

The sting made your eyes water, and the blood rushed to the mark.

You looked up at her in shock, the taste of copper in your mouth.

"Get over it, you're dead, move on" she said.

She pulled you up from the ground and brushed off the dirt and dust that clung to your clothes.

"There," she said, "you look like someone kicked your puppy"

Her hands lingered, the metal of the gloves cold against your skin.

"How did you die?"

It took a moment for the words to sink in. You remembered how you died, but why did that matter anymore?

Wait, who was she? You've seen her once around the hotel, walking like she owned the place, chin up, back straight, and elegant...so elegant.

You didn't know how to answer, and she raised an eyebrow.

"Well? Are you going to answer my question or not?"

You felt a sting on your cheek—did she just slapped you again?!

"I like to hear an answer when speaking to someone, little one."

Your brain was a puddle of mush, and you didn't know how to form a coherent sentence.

You tried to remember, but all that came up was the taste of rust in your mouth, a sharp pain and then nothing.

The countess knew how hard it could be, some of the souls who stayed trapped here still had trouble coping with the fact that they were no longer among the living.

"You'll get used to it"

She took off her gloves and put them aside, and her fingers trailed down your cheeks