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墨書 Inktalez
You sit in the center of the room on an old wooden chair, which creaks softly as if whispering forgotten stories. The air in the room is thick like a solidified mist, carrying an unsettling odor reminiscent of damp wood polished repeatedly, mingled with a fleeting hint of decay's sweetness. This scent is familiar, so familiar that it brings a slight ache to your chest, as if the echoes of memories are being forcibly pushed back into the depths of your mind, yet you cannot grasp its source.
You ask yourself: What is this smell? Is it a memory of a place? A trace left by someone? You know it should have an answer, but every time you are close to touching the truth, your thoughts snap like a fragile thread, severed by some force within the mist.
You lower your gaze to your feet. Your shoes are caked with dirt, as if you have walked all the way from some distant and obscure place. Your ankles are swollen and aching, every inch of skin radiating fatigue and weariness, remnants of countless unceasing steps. You try to wiggle your toes; the worn soles scrape against the floor, producing a dry sound. That sound feels like a metaphor, reminding you of the weight and fragility of this body.
"Forget it," you think, forcing yourself to detach from these metaphysical musings. The source of the smell, the fatigue in your steps, the fragmentation of memories… none of it matters. At this moment, what is most important is the rules sheet framed in wood before you.
You take a deep breath, focusing your attention on the yellowed paper within the wooden frame. The surface of the paper is somewhat brittle, as if it has been caressed by countless fingers; its edges curl slightly, emitting a faint scent of old books. The handwriting is neat yet slightly peculiar; some strokes are inexplicably askew, as if the hand that wrote them trembled. Under the light, the shadows of the letters seem to quiver slightly, breathing along with your gaze.
You begin to read the first rule, trying to comprehend it. The words appear clear at first glance, yet their meanings always carry an elusive twist. You realize you must concentrate harder to pull their significance back onto track.
"Always choose even-numbered rooms; doors must remain locked unless..." You pause as your eyes falter for a moment; the latter part of that sentence is obscured by shadows cast by the light. You have to adjust your angle slightly. Once the shadows recede, however, it seems as if the letters have shifted just a bit.
______
**Lodging Rules**
**General Rules**
All guests must sign the rules and return a complete signed document on the day of check-in.
The content of the rules may vary slightly depending on guest identity; please carefully verify your version and do not confuse it with others.
Bringing outside mirrors into the inn is prohibited; this includes but is not limited to hand mirrors, glass pieces, or smooth reflective objects.
(Handwritten addition): "She" does not need extra eyes—nor do you.
If you encounter unfamiliar guests, please greet them softly and refrain from further conversation.
If you hear a repeated echo in someone else's voice, please return to your room immediately.
**Housing Area Rules**
Each resident is only allowed to occupy even-numbered rooms, and the door must remain locked from the inside. If you are unable to lock the door, please report to the front desk immediately and wait in the lobby for a new key. The furnishings in the room must not be moved, especially the picture frames on the walls and the mirror by the bed. The contents within the frames may change, but do not attempt to remove them or look at the back of the frames.
(Handwritten note): "The mirror belongs to her, the painting belongs to you."
Lights must be turned off at midnight, regardless of whether you are still awake. If the lights in your room flicker suddenly after they have been turned off, please close your eyes until the lights are completely extinguished.
**Laundry Area Rules**
The laundry area is open every afternoon from 3 PM to midnight; please do not stay beyond this time. Baskets are only for white clothing; any colored items should be cleaned directly in your room. While the washing machine is running, do not gaze into the drum.
**Public Restroom Rules**
The public restroom is located at the end of the right corridor on the second floor and contains three stalls. Always use the middle stall and lock the door. If the mirror in the stall becomes foggy, do not attempt to wipe it or turn on the faucet. If fog gradually forms into a face-like shape, please close your eyes and leave the restroom. After midnight, the lights in the restroom will dim; this is normal.
Any flickering light other than the illumination within the restroom does not belong to the interior.
**Rules of the Rest Area**
The sofas in the rest area are primarily deep red, covered in velvet, and the footrests and carpet must not be moved. The patterns on the carpet seem to change with the light; if you see the patterns shifting, please avert your gaze immediately. The Beverage Machine offers only three types of drinks: Unsweetened Lemon Tea, black coffee, and Pure Water. If a guest leaves behind a half-finished drink, do not discard it or move it.
**Supplementary Rules**
The mailbox is located in the center of the first-floor lobby, and its contents must not be removed unless it is an envelope addressed to you. If an envelope is unmarked but contains your handwriting upon being opened, please return the letter to the mailbox and wipe your hands clean. Regarding changes in the corridors and time: if the number of stairs does not match what is shown on the map, please return to the lobby within five minutes and do not attempt to explore unknown floors. (Written beside it): She enjoys keeping people. The farther away, the closer.
**Leaving the Hotel**
When checking out, please place your key inside the envelope at the door and gently close it. If you find the front desk unattended when leaving, do not linger. The main door will open automatically for you until dawn.
______
The final rule on the list slowly became clear before your eyes:
"Always remember—everything here is watching you."
A chill ran down your spine, piercing deep into your bones. You lifted your head and looked at the mirror hanging on the wall; the light flickered for a moment. In the reflection, you saw a gaze fixed upon you, accompanied by a smile you had never worn before.
Rules are meant to be broken—this thought flashed through your mind, tinged with a hint of self-mockery. But this time, it felt unusually heavy. You could sense that these rules were not merely warnings written on paper; they were like invisible shackles, embedded in your mind and deep within your marrow. Each one constricted your breath, yet strangely, you could recall every word with ease, even the pauses between phrases were crystal clear. It was as if they had always belonged to you, and now you were merely remembering them.
You shook your head, trying to dispel this indescribable unease. They were just rules, after all; why take them so seriously? You tossed the rule sheet onto the table and glanced across the room, your gaze landing on the bathroom door. A shower might do you good, you thought. After all, water would surely help ease your nerves.
You looked down at the heavy shoes on your feet. The leather was cracked, mud seeped into every crevice, exuding a damp, musty odor. It took considerable effort to kick them off, and when your bare feet touched the floor, a sharp chill shot through your body as if something had suddenly awakened within you.
Then you began to peel off the clothes you wore—garments whose duration of wear you could not recall. The cuffs were tattered, the edges frayed with stains of indiscernible color. As you stripped them away, you couldn’t help but scoff at yourself for having walked so far and for so long in such attire. They seemed to have outlived their purpose yet stubbornly clung to you like a layer of skin that refused to shed. When you finally tossed them into the laundry basket, the sound of fabric hitting the bottom was surprisingly dull, as if soaked cloth wrapped around some unseen weight.
You didn’t dwell on it; instead, you shook your head and stepped into the bathroom. The lighting there was dimmer than in the room, and dark water stains accumulated in the seams of the old tiles made the space feel oppressive. A mirror was embedded in the wall; though somewhat foggy, you could still make out your reflection—haggard and pale, with sunken eyes that resembled bottomless caverns.
You turned on the faucet, and hot water cascaded down, creating a thick mist that quickly obscured your reflection from view. The sensation of water hitting your skin brought brief comfort—a kind of false salvation—but it also made every ache and fatigue in your body more pronounced.
You closed your eyes in an attempt to relax completely. Yet amidst the sound of running water, there seemed to be an offbeat rhythm—a faint and indistinct sound that resembled distant footsteps or some whispering coming from somewhere outside the bathroom.
You suddenly opened your eyes; water continued to pour down in a steady stream while the mist thickened around you, blurring the contours of the bathroom into an indistinct space. You tried to convince yourself that it was merely an illusion—fatigue and excessive anxiety playing tricks on your mind.
But when you glanced at the mirror again, something appeared to be moving beneath the fog—a shape, something… you didn’t want to acknowledge. You instinctively turned away and buried your face in your palms as hot water streamed down your back.
The rule sheet remained on the table in the room, and you vaguely recalled a line from it—something about mist, about mirrors, and something you shouldn’t ignore. But now all of that faded from your mind like those abandoned clothes left alone in the laundry basket, waiting in solitude.
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