Originally posted on Patreon in October 2018 and part of the Great Patreon Crossposting to WordPress.
Set in my ‘verse Reiassan, at an unknown time or series of times. 👻
The hotel had been there since the city had been there, and the city had been there since people started landing on this coast. It had been a small inn, three stories tall, made of solid stone carved out of the cliffs.
When the family – Arrans through and through – had needed more room, they had added on another wing. As time went on, more wings were added, until the original building was surrounded – except for a narrow courtyard on front and back – and until the original additions were also, save for more narrow courtyards, surrounded.
But in the core of the hotel, there was one room that they would never rent out. Even in a holiday, when every single room in every inn in all three of the Arran cities was booked, when anyone who claimed any blood of the Arrans came home to see the sea (such as “home” was to these refugees without a nation), they would not book the last room on the right on the second floor of the original inn. Continue reading