Ten days! A far cry off the 2,541 days I managed last time around, but every journey single step blah blah blah whatever. Don't forget if you're enjoying my ramblings here to share my Patreon page with other people and encourage them to sign up — it'd be great to get some more people reading.
Anyway, today I thought I'd continue my exploration of my own personal "Manor of Sleep" (which most people reading this will probably already recognise as a Project Zero 3 reference, but I thought I'd make that fact explicit just in case) that I started describing yesterday.
We shall leave the floor of two toilets behind today and proceed up to the top floor of the house. Up a wooden staircase that leads directly to a panelled wooden door we go; the door opens with a creak, leading us into an expansive attic room that is right in the pitched roof of the house. The ceiling has exposed beams, the floor is wooden — though thankfully not rotten like the toilet of terror — and the whole thing has an oddly "dark" atmosphere. Not in a menacing or evil sort of way; it's just the sort of room that you feel like a bright light would be inappropriate in.
The first time I recall dreaming of this room, I was actually preparing to move out of it. I don't know where I was going, but I was evidently in the process of packing up the room; some of my things were still there, but certain shelves were bare. On other occasions, my mind has visited this room while I still occupied it fully.
From the door, there's a short, narrow passageway that is just a little wider than the doorway. On the right side are some shelves that are set into the wall; they're pretty deep. On various occasions, these have been filled with video games, scale models and character figures, and books. When I dreamed of "moving out" of the room, it was in these shelves that I'd often find things that I'd thought I'd lost — things I'd been looking for for a long time.
The left wall opens up into the full width of the room after a short distance, and in the "alcove" created is a bed. This is quite low to the ground, but always looks extremely comfy. The duvet on it is a deep purple in colour, and the bed is always unmade, as if someone (or maybe I?) had just got out of it. The right wall, meanwhile, continues with the built-in shelves for about half of the total length of the wall, and then there is a traditional-looking work desk that is always covered with piles of hardback books.
There's a lamp over the head of the bed. This is one memory that's a bit hazy; I can't remember exactly how this lamp is attached to anything, though the amount of light it puts out (or lack thereof) reminds me of a childhood "clip-on" reading lamp I had with a flexible neck, leading me to believe it might be one of those clipped on to another shelf.
There's another lamp on the desk; one of those "banker"-style ones that I've always thought looked quite cool. It doesn't put out a lot of light into the room in general, but it lights up the desk and its contents very well.
A fairly normal room so far, albeit a dimly-lit one — the only light comes from those two lamps, as there doesn't appear to be a conventional ceiling light. What makes it stand out to me in my memory is the fact that the walls aren't bare; in fact, they're all completely covered in velvet drapes — again, a deep purple in colour, adorned with gold embroidery trim. The sort of thing you'd expect to see in a stereotypical fortune teller's establishment.
The built-in shelves on the right wall of the room also have these curtains attached; they're always tied back whenever I've seen them, but in theory it would be possible to draw the curtains and cover the contents of the shelves. Occasionally — though not every time I "visit", the shelves are also adorned with white fairy lights, which brings a welcome additional source of light into the room besides the lamp over the head of the bed.
The floor is bare but treated floorboards, but there is a large crimson-coloured rug in the centre of the empty space. This is soft to walk on, but not deep pile by any means; it makes the room feel less like an "attic" and more homely.
It's still an unusual, strange room, for sure, but it's one in which I feel oddly at peace. It's certainly a far cry from the terrifying portal to the poo dimension that the toilet just one floor below offered…
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