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There exists a room, currently empty of humans but nonetheless full of life. Its furniture is upholstered in plush fabrics where they aren't smooth wood or gleaming metal; there's a perfumed quality to the air, whether it comes from the plants growing in pots or the bouquet arranged in that vase over there or a hidden collection of bottled fragrances. Afternoon light streams onto the floor, and onto one of the few of the piles of clothes that rest upon it. A changing screen with adjustable blinds sets one corner, full of eclectic bookshelves and two desks (one solid and regal; the other queerly built into the wall), apart.
The other side of the room has a lounging area, and past that, a table for four and a kitchenette, cluttered with implements and strange decorations and a few dirty dishes.
Although most pairs of objects here wouldn't match very well if put next to each other, the room as a whole has an eclectic kind of cohesivity to it.
