short-story
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She was in an empty room where the walls and the floor seemed to be made of velvet. The walls were a deep, dark red, and the floor was the color of burnt sienna, muted and golden beneath the dim glow that filled the space. Everything felt strangely silent, as though the room existed outside…
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She was standing in the Dead Room. That tiny room surrounded by a warm ambience, with the velveteen floor, walls and ceiling, and an interior window capable of permitting any living entity who enters the Piano Room, to picture who is working in the Dead Room, framing them in an ebony rectangle and making them…
Joan Lenine 