The Parlor

You stand in a room that time has not so much forgotten as deliberately avoided. The wallpaper, once burgundy, has darkened to the colour of dried blood. A single candle burns on the mantelpiece. It has been burning for a very long time. The air smells of dust and wax and something older than either — the faint, sweet scent of paper decaying slowly into nothing. Six objects occupy the room. Each one waits to be examined.