There are hotels that are grand, and then there are hotels that are far too grand.

This hotel was the latter.

Ivy crawled over the soot-stained brick exterior, and the spires lost their tips in the fog. The windows were arranged with meticulous regularity. However, every time one started counting them, the number was different. Perhaps the architect was poor at arithmetic, or perhaps the building itself loathed numbers. The blueprints bore the architect's signature, but the name changed every time one looked at it. It was a rather excellent way to keep the responsibility vague.

The interior was impeccable. Marble floors, brass railings, wine-colored carpets. At the end of a corridor hung a sign that read "Quiet Please," and from beyond it came the sound of thunderous applause. No one complained about the noise. To complain, one would have to walk to the end of a corridor that had no visible end.

Silverware clinked in the dining hall, and a vacuum cleaner groaned on some floor or other. The smell of breakfast wafted through the air, yet the clock pointed to 9:00 PM. Perhaps the kitchen clock was more sensible. Or perhaps it was even worse.

From down the hall, the silver-haired Manager appeared. He spread his white-gloved hands wide, in a good mood for no apparent reason. His smile was perfect. It would have been even better if it contained even a shred of respect for human beings.