To the fine establishment – McKittrick Hotel

My Dearest,

I must first lay bare my admiration for the grand splendor of your House. Rarely have I encountered such a place, where spirits are both lifted and stirred by song. The enchanting voice of Judith Owen, haunting in its melody, called forth a nostalgia for an ear untouched by my mortal years. For this, I offer my humble gratitude. May the stars favor your endeavors, and may your fine company revel in success as bright as the sun.

Yet, my true affections lie deeper still. The McKittrick beckons like a beguiling mistress, inviting one to dance on the very precipice of the unknown. There is a palpable sorcery to the air – like a tale spun from Shakespeare’s own quill, when witches whispered prophecies upon the blasted heath. The shroud of wonder interwoven with dread ensnares the senses, conjuring memories that linger long after one has departed its enigmatic halls. The terror is never vulgar; nay, it is a bewitchment, and illusion conjured as deftly as Lady Macbeth’s own deception – “look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under’t.”

To the uninitiated, I whisper: embrace what awaits. Let your curiosity be unbridled, tread softly yet boldly through this labyrinth of shadows. Whether you move as one with the throng or carve your own path through darkened chambers, remember, in each room, you weave your own tragic fate.

For in this place, the night itself is alive, and history is etched anew with each step.

Yours in rapture and ruin,

An Admirer