Morning came—or so declared the clock hanging in the windowless room.
Ren was still asleep, curled up inside the blanket like a deep-sea creature afraid of light.
Estar had been awake since dawn, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair and staring at him like he was a rare piece of art.
"Can I lick you now? Just a little… for morning energy?"
"No." Ren's voice came out dead and muffled from under the covers.
"What about a bite? Just a tiny one? No blood, I promise."
"No."
"A kiss? A whisper? A touch? Let me rest my head on your chest?"
"No. No. No, and also no."
"Okay… I'll do all of that anyway." She grinned and pounced on him.
---
Ten minutes into their lazy/lustful skirmish, they finally decided to head down to the hotel's breakfast lounge.
They sat at a round table. The waiter approached.
The waiter was a massive frog in a suit, writing with his tongue.
"What would you like? We have boiled phoenix eggs, elf tear juice, and screaming soul soup."
"Soup," said Ren, yawning.
"Burnt phoenix eggs and tea without a curse," Estar replied.
"Would you like seats resistant to fire… or torment?"
"We'd prefer the table with the lowest spirit-death rate, please," Estar said politely.
---
The food arrived.
Ren took a sip of the soup, paused, looked at the spoon.
"Something… is insulting me."
"It's the added soul for enhanced flavor. Just ignore it," said the frog, polishing a glass with his tongue.
"It's calling me… useless. Lazy. A disgrace."
"Sweetheart, that's not the soul. That's me." Estar smiled, chewing her eggs.
---
Ren glanced at the next table, where a strange girl sat—half of her body transparent. She smiled at him mischievously.
"Is this a hotel or a creature trap?" he muttered, scratching his head.
"All hotels are like this in this world. Totally normal," Estar replied as she poured him some tea, watching the drops fall slowly.
Then she whispered, "When we finish eating… how about a romantic tour of the back morgue? It has demonic flowers."
"Can we sleep there?"
"Of course."
"I'm in."
---
Ren stood, reaching out his hand. Estar grabbed it instantly, like she'd been waiting a thousand years.
"Where to now?" he asked, still half-asleep.
"To the back garden. Where zombies exchange poetry and nightmare trees sing love songs."
"Ah… what a wonderful world."
"So am I," she said, clinging to his arm.
---
Then the skeleton appeared at the door, holding up a sign:
Warning: Room 13 guests under surveillance. Excessive romance kills weak spirits.
Ren looked at him, then spat an olive pit that hit the skeleton's head dead-on.
"Watch that."
Estar burst out laughing, then wrapped her tail around his waist as they walked toward the garden.
---
There… a new adventure was about to begin.
And no one knew… that the flower Estar would pick minutes later was a cursed one, blooming only where heroes die.
But Ren?
He wasn't a hero.
He was just… a professional sleeper.