Amber Lights Beyond the Frosted Glass

The Grand Arclight rose above the city like a crown: domed glass skylights, electric banners pulsing with amber script, and iron gargoyles frozen mid-snarl atop its eaves. The air inside shimmered with mingled perfume and coal smoke, masking the rot that had begun to seep up from the streets below.

Clara had not planned to bring her son to the city. But when flames licked at their old home’s rafters—some say ignited by arcane mishap, others whispering sabotage—she took what little she could carry and bought passage to this supposed sanctuary. Now she stood in the gold-veined lobby, gripping Jamie’s hand as he gawked at chandeliers like crystal spiders.

They waited for their room key while bellhops in velvet jackets glided past, carrying trunks stamped with foreign seals. Clara tried not to notice how some guests arrived looking vibrant, only to leave days later pale and hollow-eyed.

Jamie nudged her. “Can I play?”

She nodded absently. He perched on a tufted bench and slid his gaming console from his satchel—the one with gleaming white controllers and an impossibly bright screen. He’d chosen it himself months ago, saving coins from odd jobs; now, it was their link to normalcy.

The device flickered to life beneath his fingers, casting vivid colors across his face. Clara watched him navigate enchanted forests and clockwork cities rendered in exquisite detail—each pixel sharp against the hotel’s muted grandeur. As Jamie lost himself in playful worlds where monsters could be beaten back with cleverness or courage, Clara felt her own heart steady.

Later, in their high-windowed suite overlooking rain-slick roofs, Jamie settled cross-legged by the fire. Clara tried to read a telegram from her sister but couldn’t focus past the distant screams threading through the walls. She told herself it was only wind.

“Play with me?” Jamie asked.

He offered one of the white controllers, his eyes wide—not fearful yet, but searching for reassurance. They played side by side, laughter muffling the thrum of unease outside. In multiplayer mode, their avatars explored haunted gardens shimmering on that seven-inch screen; every leap and puzzle solved together felt like defiance against whatever crept through Arclight’s corridors.

At midnight came a knock—not at their door but somewhere down the hall. A low voice muttered syllables that twisted in Clara’s mind like oil on water. The lights flickered; shadows curled around brass fixtures. From beneath their door seeped a chill mist tinged blue-white—magic gone wrong, or power wielded for hunger rather than hope.

Jamie clung to her as she reached for the device again. Not for play now—but as a beacon: its brilliant display cut through gloom when every lamp dimmed, illuminating faces drawn taut with dread as they peeked into the corridor.

In that phosphorescent glow, Clara found strength enough to lead Jamie toward the grand stairwell as hotel staff scrambled past guests who had begun coughing up feathers or sprouting chitinous growths along their jaws—a curse spreading unchecked by any authority still untainted.

Down in the lobby once more, surrounded by panic and betrayal glinting in every eye, Clara kept Jamie close and pressed his game system into his hands.

“Keep your world bright,” she whispered as monstrous forms battered at stained-glass doors—a mother’s last ward against corruption.

They huddled near gilded arches as dawn broke pale over Grand Arclight’s shattered facade. Amidst chaos and loss, Jamie’s console continued to blaze with color—a fragile promise that even when power is warped beyond recognition, wonder can survive if we hold fast to it…and to each other.