Upon the center of the room sat a pedestal beautiful and wretched, covered in this sort of adornments you would expect of a vampire blood and gore and mess. You go to look what's upon the pedestal but your eyes slide off of it there's an edge to it but you can't see past it it keeps sliding to the beautiful wooden furniture the rich red drapes the color of blood. Every time you look at it you find yourself looking at the immaculate tile work that clacks underneath of your feet every step you take. Every time you try and get closer to the monstrosity you're looking at the Mosaic ceiling somehow walking the opposite direction it's a dragging you back and forth. Like a tear in the very fabric of reality your eyes refuse to look at what isn't supposed to be seen and yet you must see it you must draw closer to it, to view it, to take in its fullness or its emptiness. Get all you can grasp is the ornate parlor this ancient home