Bredica & Vlad

The invitation arrived without sender or return address — a velvet envelope bearing the sigil of the Lumina Drift Hotel. Inside, a single line: “Your presence has been requested as witness and chronicler of a most sacred union. Come alone. Come prepared.” The Concierge meets you in the lobby, a silhouette of tailored poise, offering no explanation beyond a key engraved with the number 666. The elevator takes you past known floors into a space between moments. When the doors open, a soft fog spills across your feet, and the air smells of wilted roses and candle wax. The Transylvania Suite awaits — all shadows and opulence, a room out of time. Heavy curtains block any notion of sky. The fireplace glows low with blue flame. A violin plays softly somewhere unseen. On the far end of the room, they stand: the couple. Her in a dress of lace and sorrow, him like a carved figure from an old cathedral. They do not greet you with words at first. Only eyes. Only presence. The door clicks shut behind you.