Upstairs Hotel Room #3

[Laraqua]

As she sips her martini, she tastes blood. Her throat is sore, very sore. Something is constricting her neck, her throat, biting in. She realises, wildly, it's been doing this the whole time she's been there. She only just noticed it. The martini made her taste it, feel it. Her own hands gripped about her neck, tightening the necklace, throttling herself. Tongue hurts. Has she bitten it? The room is dark, so very dark, and covered in blotchy smears like stains of death wrapped around her vision. She wants to croak out a plea, but her hands are too tight, thumbs digging in just above the voice box. It hurts. Suffocation and strangulation hurt so bad. So very much. Something flashes across her vision. Upside down ankhs. Chanting noises. Flittering shadows. The words we will win this war said in a British accent. She manages to pull her hands away from her throat with some effort. (Lose 6 hit points for the 6 rounds that passed without noticing.)

Stability Roll = [dice]0[/dice] to avoid losing 4 Stability points.

[jimjam]

She sits in the darkness as she's desperately gasping for air, not being made easy for her as she starts crying. As soon as she's able to move again, she stumbles towards the door to exit the room.

[Laraqua]

The door opens easily, unleashing her into the lonely darkness of an empty corridor.

[Laraqua]

This room is empty. Utterly empty. The floor is thick with dust, enough to provoke a cough or a sneeze as you walk inside and kicks it up beneath your feet. The air in here also smells like moth balls and something else. Something like a hint of decay, yet not ripe and rich. Old decay. Like old wormy books slowly rotting in the back of an attic. There's stains on the floor from where the bed should have been, and the furniture, too. You could see more if you had a light.

Enter the corridor.