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You don't consider yourself yellow-stomached, or skittish or ... unduly fearful in any particular way. But the prospect of wandering through completely dark, inexplicably designed corridors ... that, that wouldn't appeal to anyone! Blessedly, there are still three doors that remain untried in this hall. The first of them sits at what is now the far end of the hallway, right by the closet and the sitting room with the fireplace; you have reason to believe that the space has been set aside for the servants of the house - and therefore it is not likely to yield any writing implements, considering the rarity of literacy amongst skill-less Subjects. The other doors are a little further along, closer to the only active source of light in the corridor, a window. Even with the light coming through it diffused somewhat by the torn linen sheet hung over on the outside, to mark the house as being in mourning, it is still much brighter than anything your 'stick can muster. Figuring - or perhaps just hoping - that the door nearest to the window will lead to a room that has windows of its own, you skip over the nearest door, making short work of the distance with long strides.
Cautiously - and now with noticeable timidity - you push open the door. The room before you has a number of windows, and even though they are all covered over, the collective light that wins through the linen is more than enough to illuminate the space. And what a space it is! Its like … an exhibition gallery, writ small. You've never been in one, admittedly, but father had knocked down a couple over the years, and he'd told you enough about them for you to recognize one of them. All along the walls, there are these true-to-life paintings of plants; you recognize some as natives to Outremer and the Empire, others you'd judge to be from more exotic climes. There are even a few aquatic plants mixed in with them. Clustered together in the corner, there are a number of these foot-thick tomes, propped up on some substantial looking wood stands. There are rolling stands as well, with blown glass covers over them as well. Most of these are as large as the book stands are, but there are a few that are a bit bigger – and one that it is the size of child's bed. All of these are crowded around the nearest of the windows in the room. Out of the nearest of rollers, you can just make out a hint, right where the lip of the glass mates with the uppermost wood of the frame. Obviously, these are living specimens – but you cannot immediately understand why they would be down here, instead of in the roof-top conservatory? If it was too cold out, then perhaps … but, no, there is no chimney in this room either.
