Partir, c'est toujours mourir un peu - Farewell always means to die a little

Aimée drove her car onto the parking lot of the Four Seasons Hotel. She didn't get out though, but rather eyed the building absent-mindedly, while the last few nights went through her head, as they did night after night since she had been cast out of her former city.
"Payback's a bitch, so you two might actually get along." she muttered as her Sire's face before the incident at the Elysium got back into Aimée's mind. Wasn't she laughing? Hadn't she planned the whole thing?! She shoved those thoughts away for now - it has been a long night of driving and after she has taken a day of rest she can start to get back on her feet again. Then, after her position has been sufficently secured here she could think about crushing that salope.

Sighing she stepped out of the car, locked it and made her way to the hotel. She thought about the things she had to do here - making sure the prince knew about her arrival, getting to know the important mortals (and kindred) of this city and getting a proper haven were surely the top priorities. As she entered the reception desk clerk, who seemed to be bored out of his mind and nearly sleeping, startled and straigtened himself. He was a helpful little puppy, almost irritatingly so, and made sure that all her wishes were fulfilled (most importantly: no disturbance of any kind). She paid in advance for a week and got someone to bring her suitcases to her room. There she immidiately locked her door and scanned the courtains in the room; they seemed to completely cover the windows and seemed actually heavy enough to next to no sunlight in, so she didn't have to sleep in bathtub (oh dear God, how relieving). It probably was true: farewell always means to die a little. The question that was still left to be answered is who exactly is going to die in the end.
With a smile that would have made the young man from the reception shit bricks she started to rest.