top of the grand staircase.
Las Vegas was a city with the brightest of streets and the darkest of corners. The ostentatious glittering lights hit almost every inch of the town, except the bits that it didn't. Those seedy, midnight black parts of Vegas that only poked its head out in the most nefarious of times. It was a city of stark contrasts -- a city of the highest highs and lowest lows. But the shiny lights and big jackpots distracted from the bad things. MK Robinson, the redhead with big dreams, bigger problems, and the biggest personality, had been in town for less than a day, but she found a strange kinship with her newest home. The Sin City was a show with insidious and depressing little corners that people got the tiniest glimpses of. Just like her.
She had barely gotten off the red eye flight from Los Angeles and was waiting for a taxi to take her to Caesar's Palace where Wren was waiting. MK was apprehensive, strangely. So many things occurred since they last saw each other. MK knew she was different on the inside, even if others couldn't quite tell. She wondered how much Wren had changed and how much the other girl would be able to pick up on her own. They hadn't discussed details, not really, and she worried about how Wren would react to the real reason she left Seattle.
Wanting to forget lead her to opening the journal. It was a curious little thing, but instead of being filled with the usual writings, a message graced the front page. What the hell was the Passages Hotel? More writing followed, mentioning that key settled at the bottom of MK's bag, and giving directions to the hotel. It didn't make much sense, or any at all, but something tugged to do it. The voice or whatever. So, after dropping off her bags at the hotel concierge, she jumped right back into the cab and towards the ominous Passages Hotel.
She wandered quietly to the front door, and after a quick glance in the lobby, she moved towards the destitute, yet ornate staircase. The rug lining it was an ugly little thing, but MK still moved upward and onward until she reached the top. Large windows faced an old garden, and she was caught staring at it for a moment, lost in looking at the tiny details of what was once probably a beautiful building. Her fingers, slim and delicate, rose slowly and pressed against the glass. Why was she here? What kind of answers would she find in this place?