Xanther Paradoxica The Most High, Keeper of the Keys to the Past, Present, Future, and Everything in Between, Exalted Guardian of Time, And Also the Fluffiest :)
That’s what the sign says, the neon lights glittering out into the fathomless void of space. There isn't anything out here, in this forgotten sector of the galaxy. There isn’t supposed to be anything out here, and yet here it is.
How to describe it? It appears to be a normal asteroid at first glance, craggy and dark amongst the stars. But when you round it to the other side, it becomes something unlike anything you've ever seen.
The crags and hollows here have been shaped and molded as if by some giant hand, twisted into the edifice of a magnificent building. It’s carved directly into the surface of the asteroid, the walls and structure formed out of the rock itself. Through the windows can be seen light glittering in shades of gold and red and purple and green, seeming to shift every few seconds.
The entrance to this fever dream of a structure is framed by tall columns, and as you get closer you can see that these columns are carved all over with names, connected by a swirling ribbon dotted by stylized stars.
The doors themselves are made of delicate colored glass, patterns of warm, fractured sunrise on one door, a purple-black night sky shot through with silver stars on the other. They’re set deep into an overhang of dark rock, looking as though it has been painstakingly chipped away by hand. Right above this shadowed hollow is the sign, electric neon green and so bright it’s like staring into a sun. The welcome is in curling, elegant lettering, the letters themselves having to be at least a hundred feet tall each.
There's a landing dock branching out from the entrance, where docking ships are greeted by a curly-haired mechanic in turquoise coveralls and a spiky green dog that treats everyone like a friend.
The floor of the landing platform and the entryway is made of black-and-white tile, simple and elegant. The doors open for you as though sensing your approach, revealing a massive lobby decked out in golds and blues and blacks and silvers. The floor is the same black and white tile as the platform outside, although in here it is inlaid with silver-and-gold constellations. A massive winding staircase stretches up in front of you, facing directly across from the doors and spiraling up into the seemingly endless levels of floors. There shouldn’t be that many floors. There are rules to these things. But...maybe not in this place.
Two mechanical faceless spiders are waiting just inside to take whatever luggage you may have. They speak in chirping, polite voices.
There is a cat on the concierge's desk, blue-furred and six-eyed. It is not what it seems. It is a member of a species tasked with monitoring the time stream, and it has been exiled to this place for war crimes. It is the concierge.
When checking into the hotel, if you see the honeymoon suite is available, do not take it. It is a room full of bees. Other rooms are acceptable, although they may carry you to the ocean while you sleep or dissolve into nothing in the night.
Make sure to visit the cabaret during your visit. It is something you will never see the likes of anywhere else. There is a singer, a woman of nearly seven feet in stature, with ink-black skin and waist-length hair of every color imaginable. She sings songs of blood and fire and a hunt, and you cannot help but hang onto every word. There is a pair of dancers that appear humanoid when standing still, but when moving unravel into ribbons of silk that twist themselves into impossible shapes. There is a red-haired violinist with a snake tattoo winding its way across his temple and forehead, hiding a scar. He plays like he's dying, like this is the most important thing he will ever do, like the music is all that will be left of him. There is a card magician whose sleight of hand is so flawless you're convinced it is actually magic. When he smiles at you, captivated in the audience, you think you see pointed teeth.
You stop at the bar afterwards, receiving a drink from a green-skinned bartender with an 'ask for pronouns/any/all' pin. Also sitting at the bar with you is a woman in a long coat, a stylized wing design embroidered into the back. When you tell her you like it, she says that 'if i can't have mine, these ones will do'. She doesn't seem to want to speak further about it.
Everyone here has secrets, that is instantly clear. The building itself has secrets. There is a bottomless pit in the basement, and the janitor's closet opens upon a mass of tentacles. You peek behind the door labeled 'Staff Lounge' once, and find what appears to be the ruins of a vast palace. There is another door that you cannot bring yourself to open, although it seems to be following you, appearing at the end of every hallway you enter. You can hear sobbing behind it. You don't want to go in.
There is something living in the walls. Somethings, more specifically. They resemble tales you've heard of fairies, although these are built of scraps, of things left behind in the rooms. They steal your belongings, and you can hear them giggling in the night.
There is one resident who seems to have befriended these fairies, a dark-haired man in a wheelchair, goggles pushed up on his forehead, crimson-irised eyes sparkling with curiosity as he talks to the walls. He is shadowed by a broad, winged figure who observes everyone around him with distrust.
There's a pirate crew that stops by on occasion, led by a green-skinned captain resembling the bartender so closely that they can't be anything but siblings. They stay for a while, causing chaos and riding a dinosaur through the halls, and then they leave again for a while. They always return, however, and are greeted with a rare smile from the bartender and a roaring cheer from the woman with the winged coat whenever they do.
It becomes obvious that the staff cannot leave the hotel, although why you do not know. You watch the bartender watch their brother and his crew leave with longing in aer eyes, the anger that fills faer when it has to go back to work. You wonder if you can help. You cannot.
Despite all that you have seen, the most important thing about the hotel is the time jumps. They occur at random; one moment you're in the time period you were in when you arrived, and the next you are thousands of years in the future. And then the past. And then a time before anything even existed. The staff are clearly accustomed to this, and just sighs and marks down where the hotel has ended up in a heavy logbook.
You will never know who built the hotel, or even what it really is, but you do know as soon as you enter that it will stick with you forever. And sometimes, when you sleep, you will hear a little voice, urging you to return. And maybe you will listen. And who knows what happens next?
