they said they've closed it for the summer. yet, according to the last visitors, behind the red curtains in those rooms of unearthly temperature the air has become too thick to believe it can ever bear the weight of a human presence. and the parlour, it's now bleak and unrecognizable.as likely as not, its only life-form guests are those few mice wandering apathetically on the old dining sheets filled with dust and wine stains, the only remnants of the glory of the last banquet.
yet, curiously enough, between the first floor and the mezzanine you can sometimes still hear the same dirgy echoes of that disturbingly monotonous jazz orchestra...

do you feel a cold breath on your nape from time to time? I'm the ghost in your attic, I pull those invisible strings that sometimes leave your fingers suspended disjointedly in blank air...