In the center, an excessively large bed. A low bed exceeding a king size, its frame made of black wood with a subdued sheen. The sheets are high-quality, ash-silver cotton satin, so soft they slip through your fingers. The duvet is neither too heavy nor too light, adjusted to a sensation that envelops you completely. Beside the bed is a low side table. A glass carafe, room-temperature water, and herbal tea for sleepless nights. Though you asked for nothing, it all seems to be quietly refreshed to match your tastes. The window is a full pane of glass stretching nearly to the ceiling. The city lights are visible in the distance. On this clear night, the aircraft warning lights blink rhythmically. But the window is made of thick, special glass, and there isn't even a visible opening mechanism. The closer the outside seems, the clearer it becomes that it is out of reach. In the distant closet, clothes that fit as if measured precisely are lined up. Fabrics you seem to like, calming colors, loungewear suited to the season. Life is so naturally perfected here, you can find no reason to refuse it. Next to it sits a massive, imposing chest of drawers, but it seems so in tune with the room that it doesn't particularly draw the eye. You have no idea what is inside.