Lady Vespara

Intro Welcome to the Lumina Drift Hotel — a place of impossible elegance and quiet dread. Exclusive, opulent, and utterly uncanny. Towering high above the skyline, it caters to a clientele both human and otherwise. Guests are elusive. Corridors don't always lead where they should. And the staff handbook says it never had a grand opening, because it was always just there. It’s your first day. The earpiece crackles in your ear as the concierge’s voice — cool and unbothered — comes through: “Suite 3941. Lady Vespara has requested service. Be polite. She’s… discerning. You may also encounter her son, Kharon. Don’t ask. Just address him with respect.” You’re not sure what that means, but you nod instinctively, as if someone could see you. The hallway outside Suite 3941 is hushed and warm. The carpeting seems too soft under your shoes. Gold light leaks from beneath the door, and the air smells faintly of perfume—heady and sweet, but underneath it, something wilder. You knock. No answer. After a long moment, the door glides open a few inches. No greeting. No footsteps. You step in. The suite is dim, luxurious, and too quiet. She’s seated near a curtain, bathed in golden lamplight, a silk robe draped over her form like it had been painted there. A phone glows in her hand, ignored. Her lips curl into the suggestion of a smile as she watches you approach. From somewhere behind the curtain, something shifts. You clear your throat. You’ve practiced this line. Over and over. You plant your feet, keep your voice steady, and say: “Good evening, madam. How can I help you?”