Hotel del Luna

Prologue

Cars rolled by. But it wasn't the normal model in today's world. There were millions of Model Ts and Model As from Henry Ford. Most passed by the grandest building of Paris. Le Grand Palais. The interior was similar to a real palace, they say. Yet, the history was darker than most thought.

It was that one day, when food and water became all- the-more scarce, as well as many other goods. A time when stock markets crashed. The Great Depression. The year was 1930. A man walked in, dressed in a tan suit with a bloody, red tie. He had bushy eyebrows and his eyes were a bright blue. A typical appearance for a bootlegger. However, this 58-year-old man was not just any bootlegger in the United States...he was the famed Wendell Charles. Best known for smuggling red and white wine and canned goods left from the crashed markets, earning grands of money each month.

He entered inside the hotel, nonchalantly, with no suspicious expression on his lips, and walked straight up to the reception desk.

"Vous réservez une chambre?" asked the receptionist.

Mr. Charles didn't know French as well as his daughter. The language was a bit like a math problem to him. His face widened. Of course he had to respond. But the receptionist gave out a warm smile.

"I am asking if you are booking a room?" she said, with a strong accent. It was obvious her English was rusty as well.

"Why, yes." he said, his voice as deep and husky like a cat's purr.

However, he knows that sometimes, by nature, the French are known for getting past suspicion. There are some who could even tell if someone is telling a taradiddle. But not the receptionist.

And so, Mr. Charles picked up his suitcases and walked up the steps. Now his daughter Nellie (her real name is Cordelia) was a flapper. Although she was not yet eighteen, her dances wowed the rich men. However, she often found him either presumptuous or misogynistic. Yet she was only seventeen...in a half.

It was just after a show, when Mr. Charles stormed right up to her. Nellie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. Another one of his old-fashioned sermons was coming once again.

"Explain!" he shouted.

"Why should I?!" Nellie snapped, "Casual dating has been invented, I want to go out more, and I DON'T want anymore of your damn, wretched sermons!"

Nellie never stood up to her own father. Ever since her mother died, the money had been sent to Mr. Charles. And he wanted so much to provide for his daughter. But no one knew the crimes he had done to even protect his reputation. And so, the good father his closest friends he used to know was gone...for good.

Nellie was locked up in her room as a result. She could hear the cursing and drunken slurs he ranted on. To her, it was too much. But she wanted to live, even after all she had been through. She then looked out the window...slowly wishing for things to look up at least by a day.

But the next morning was her last...and Mr. Charles had lost her forever.