In the shadowy recesses of Hotel Cervol, whispers of long-forgotten guests linger like the musty scent of damp stone, curling around the twin staircases that spiral down into darkness. Visitors often report an unsettling prickle at the nape of their necks, as if unseen eyes are trailing their every hesitant step, and the chill that seeps into the walls seems to pulse with the weight of the past. It is said that those who linger too long in the cold embrace of its corridors may find themselves forever entwined in the hotel's tragic history, bound to relive the echoes of sorrow and despair that seep from every cracked tile and peeling wallpaper.

The Hotel Magic Andorra looms over Andorra la Vella like a brooding specter, its walls steeped in whispers of the past that curl through the air like mist. Guests stumble into its rooms, only to be swallowed by an oppressive silence that thickens at night, broken only by faint echoes of laughter and the unsettling rustle of fabric, as if unseen hands were rearranging shadows. As they drift into uneasy slumber, the weight of unseen eyes bears down upon them, and they awaken, drenched in a chill that cuts deeper than the mountain air, haunted by the feeling that they are not alone-never alone.