Play The Winter Hotel | LoreWeaver AI

The bell on the front desk rings twice at ten past two, and you're the only one awake to hear it. You come down the main stairs in your coat, because the lobby heating is off to save money, and the snow outside the revolving door is banked up to the brass handle. Mr. Horák is already behind the desk in his green porter's jacket, buttoned to the neck. He has the big guest book open in front of him and doesn't look up when you come in. The man at the desk is tall and in his forties, with a waxed moustache and an overcoat with a fur collar that went out of fashion before the First World War. There's snow on his shoulders, and it isn't melting. A leather case sits at his feet with a paper label from a Vienna hotel. He smells of cologne and cold air. Room 212, as usual, he says to Horák in careful old-fashioned German, then switches to Czech, for your sake. Has my wife arrived? The Countess. She was coming up on the evening train. Horák turns the book round. The date at the top of the page is 14 January 1910, in handwriting that isn't his. He takes the key for 212 off its hook and lays it on the counter halfway between the guest and you. The man pulls off his gloves and looks at you properly, and then he says your first name, easily, the way someone does who has known you for years. Would you take my case up? Horák's knees aren't what they were, and I'd rather not wait.