#oneaday Day 12: The Manor of Sleep, Part 3

[Good morning! I drafted this yesterday and then got distracted by some combination of cats, making videos, Super Smash Bros. Ultimate and/or Atelier Rorona. Apologies. I present it now for your delectation.]

Let us continue on our journey through my own personal Manor of Sleep, with the third and final room that seems to crop up regularly in my dreams.

This last one is much more mundane, but it's appeared often enough in my subconscious thoughts for it to feel like it's "important".

Whenever I visit this last room, it's always night time, and there's the feeling like the house is playing host to a party, but there's never anyone there. I'm on the ground floor, the details and layout of which are lost to the mists of the subconscious aside from what I'm about to describe, and despite knowing that something unusual is going on, I don't feel the need to go looking for people.

Where the dream becomes vivid and memorable is just before I reach the main room in question. I round the corner of a passageway on the ground floor, and walk down a couple of steps to a slightly lower level, though not a whole new storey of the building. Then I make a left turn and open a glass door to pass into what appears to be a long, thin conservatory of sorts.

The room has windows on all sides — even the one that connects to the corridor outside — and has covered tables down its left edge. Whenever I enter this room, these tables are always filled with various pieces of party food, but I never eat any of them. I always feel like I'm looking for someone or something when I come in here, so there's no time to eat; I never actually find them, though.

The exterior windows look out into a somewhat overgrown garden. Attempts have obviously been made to tame it so it isn't completely unmanaged, but there's still rather more foliage out there than one might see in a well-maintained outdoor area.

There's a piano in one corner of the room; a nice-looking but aged upright with music stacked atop it. I feel inclined to play it, but the someone or something I'm looking for is more important, so I never do.

Ultimately I never spend particularly long in this room, but for some reason the memory of it is unusually vivid. I'm sure it all means something, but as yet I'm at a loss. I find myself constantly expecting to walk into a house in reality and discover I'm actually in "the Manor of Sleep", but I feel the terrifying toilet I described in part 1 probably means this is unlikely to happen!