I snort. An apology would have been nicer.
- and welcome to Hotel F!
Please continue reading for information about your stay with us.
You will find complimentary clothing and toiletries within yourallocated room.
During your allocated daily breakfast period, we will wash andreplace your dirty clothing, bedding, and towels.
You may not leave your room unsupervised or outside of mealperiods unless specifically required.
Your meal times are:
?Breakfast—8:00 am
?Lunch—1:00 pm
?Dinner—6:00 pm
Each meal period allows 1 hour to eat and socialize. It is importantto make time for friendships with the other Chosen, as these womenwill be your only allies once you have made the Crossing to the landof the fae.
You are not permitted a television, mobile phone, or any otherelectronics.
To pass your time during your brief stay with us, we encourage youto read through the pamphlets we have supplied for you to preparefor your stay in Faerie.
Last, your safety is paramount to us. You will find your room isunder constant surveillance, 24 hours a day. We will respond toemergencies and provide any necessary help.
If you have any feedback or questions about your stay, please writethis on the Consumer Feedback Form.
Thank you, and enjoy your stay at Hotel F.
I scrunch the paper into a ball and throw it against the wall. These fuckers were treating us as if we were criminals locked in our cells. Because that is what these rooms were. They may have luxuries a cell would not, but four walls and a locked door are a cage, no matter how you furnish it.
I glare up at the walls and find two cameras blinking back at me. My cheeks burn as I note my carelessly dropped towel in the center of the room. My stomach curdles as another thought pushes through to the forefront, and I storm into the bathroom. Camera number three grins like the filthy pervert it is.
I stomp back to my bed and fall onto it. I am positively fuming at the complete lack of privacy and common decency. The sick assholes getting their fill of five thousand fucking women.
I startle as a loud bell sings a merry tune throughout my room.
“Lunch Period will start in… ten minutes,” a generic robotic female voice calls through a hidden speaker.
The bell chimes again—ding, ding, dong!— before the room falls back into silence.
My stomach growls loudly at the announcement, and I clutch it. Lunchtime. I had slept through breakfast, and my stomach wassonot happy about that. The prospect of lunch period was daunting, to be honest. I didn’t know what I would walk into and who I would meet. But it had to be better than sitting in this plain little room, and reading stupid pamphlets I had no interest in reading.
I slip on the slippers that await me by the door, then take a seat on the edge of my bed. My legs don’t stop bouncing, swinging, and twitching as I wait impatiently for the 10 minutes to be up. I’ve never been known to be patient, that’s for sure.
The sound of my door unlocking has me jumping to my feet. The door opens, and a slim and ganglyboyin an army uniform takes a single step inside. The cadet has clusters of red and inflamed pustules over both cheeks and forehead that were just begging to burst. My stomach curdles at the thought, and I hastily look away from his pimples and try to focus on the rest of him. He looks straight out of high school.
He clears his throat, his abnormally large Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.
“Hello, Chosen,” he says, his voice breaking, and I can’t help but cringe in embarrassment for him. “I am one of the soldiers assigned to monitoring Floor 12 of Building 1. As this is your first meal period, I will escort you personally, but you will need to memorize the way for futuremeals. If you deviate from the path at any stage, you will be severely punished and confined to your room for the remaining duration of your stay at Hotel F. Do you have any questions?”
Too many. Do you cleanse your face? Because you seriously need to follow a regular skin care regimen and stick to it. How old are you? You look like you should be in school chasing teenage girls, because, let’s face it, those zits are horrifying.
I force myself to smile, which sure as shit looks as phony as it feels.
“What’s your name?” I ask. I don’t fucking care what his name is.
