At the topmost floor of one of the Silver Towers nestled an opulent hotel room.
It was an embodiment of comfort and luxury.
The entrance to this hotel room was blocked by a polished ornate wooden door, whose brown colour brightened and sparkled spotless under the light of the chandeliers that illuminated the hallways.
Upon the door was a small polished brass plaque that bore the room's number — 23.
Beyond the ornate wooden door lay a room bathed in a soft, amber glow from the antique lamps that radiated their flames' light.
In the heart of the suite stood a king-sized bed, its sheets a silken sea of white, adorned with a multitude of plump pillows, each a different shade of gold.
It beckoned, inviting weary travellers to rest their heads and drift into the realms of dreams.
The windows, tall and grand, stretched from floor to ceiling, offering an uninterrupted view of the cityscape below.
