Plurk paste

The whole room isn’t huge, but probably it appears smaller than it actually is because it’s cram packed - covered with hanging fabrics and patterned lights, all sorts of things hanging on the walls: pictures and tapestries and postcards, bits of glass gems on strings, strands of silk flowers, feathers from a bevy of different birds. It is maximalism … to the max. If it is shiny and interesting, it’s somewhere in the mess. Everything is made of handmade and homey materials - wooden floors with a soft rug and simple walls, not that you see them behind the decoration. There symbols and iconography of anything and everything: religions and gods from a myriad of worlds alchemical symbols, celestial signs and the traditional images of tarot mixed in with the madness. The desk is small and overloaded with tchotchkes and trinkets, and the surface of it is marked with ink and paint stains - well-used and worn in but sturdy. There isn’t a chair, just a big cushion instead so good luck to your back. The bed is overly large and slightly too soft, covered in blankets and pillows in a blinding mish-mash of colors and patterns, hung with gauzy curtains and dangling soft lights. It’s cozy and comfortable, always sort of dimly lit in an intimate way.