The room is circular with grey stone walls. It is warm here and I am comfortable. There is a rich green and blue carpet on the floor. I have woken up in a comfortable armchair, old-fashioned with wooden legs and blue uphostery. Next to the chair, on my left, is a small wooden table with an empty glass on it and a book. The book is thick and bound in black, in an old-fashioned style. In front of me, there is a fireplace containing a dying fire. There is one large window with wooden shutters over it with a desk in front of it. At the desk is a wooden chair. On the desk are some sheets of paper, a few quill pens and jars of different-coloured ink. To the right of the desk is a wooden bookcase with a closed cabinet below and a glass-fronted cabinet above. There is a door on the other side of the fireplace, about 150 degrees away from the desk, which is made of dark polished wood. It is closed, and has a metal doorknob painted black. There is a chest on the other side of the room from the fireplace (behind the chair) with a cloth draped over it. There are two paintings on the wall, one over the chest, one between the chest and desk. The former is a painting of a beautiful woman. The latter is a painting of me.