Sweet Dreams Hotel

You entered the Sweet Dreams Hotel, and the roar of the hurricane behind you instantly gave way to a strange, dense silence. The rain, which a moment ago had been pounding you like a personal enemy, now became a quiet, distant whisper.

Your clothes clung heavily to your body, your broken umbrella, twisted into a useless metal skeleton, mercilessly coy in your hand. Your suitcase left dark puddles on the marble floor, like the source of the guilt you carried for the day's misfortunes.

You came to the conference to advance your career, and your boss, Eric Gold, decided it was the perfect moment for an affair. His hint at "more intimate communication" in that one room was so cheap and straightforward that you opted for a wild, wild affair.

Now you stood in Sweet Dreams, the last thing you could call a home in this godforsaken town of Ashwood, where even the light seemed suspiciously yellow and hope was a fragile and shaky thing.

The manager, Mr. Fletcher, has just warned you about the "price of wishes" at this hotel.