La Maison de la Tour loomed like a forgotten sentinel in the heart of Provins, its weathered stones whispering tales of lost souls and lingering grief. Guests often felt an oppressive weight in the air, as if unseen eyes traced their every movement, while ghostly figures flitted through the dimly lit corridors, leaving behind a chill that crawled beneath the skin. Many who dared to spend the night emerged with hollow eyes, claiming they heard soft, pleading voices echoing from the shadows, begging them to stay-forever.

Beneath the peeling wallpaper of Hotel Ibis Provins, the air thrums with a disquiet that clings like the lingering scent of stale cigarettes; flickering lights cast grotesque shadows that dance in the corners of the mind, whispering secrets of those who once roamed its ancient halls. Guests often report a prickling sensation along their spines, as if unseen eyes dissect their every move-an unsettling reminder that not all who check in are guaranteed to leave, and the silence of the night may be more than just an absence of sound, but a prelude to the unspeakable.

Auberge de la Tour looms in Provins, its ancient stones whispering secrets of lost time, where the scent of damp wood mingles with the faint, lingering trace of sorrow. With each creak of the floorboards, guests have reported the unsettling sound of a womans cries echoing through the dining area, as shadowy figures slip past the flickering candlelight, leaving unease festering in the air like a simmering storm. Those who linger too long in the chilling embrace of its history find themselves ensnared in a web of despair, the echoes of the past clinging to their souls like a lovers ghost.

In the shadowy corridors of Hotel Le Richebourg, whispers curl like smoke, brushing against the skin with a chill that lingers long after the sun has set. Guests have awakened to the soft, insistent tug of invisible fingers tracing their faces, while their belongings shift mysteriously-a forgotten book or delicate china-moved as if by a hand from the other side. Those who dare to linger at night speak in hushed tones of the silence that breathes, thick and pregnant with the unseen, as they sense they are not alone; after all, in this ancient haunt, the past is never truly buried.