It would appear that you've entered Aleister's astrological observatory. Fanciful depictions of various constellations paper the walls, many edged with gold lacquer. Any number of telescopes cluster by the windows, their tripods rife with signs of wear. Elaborate star charts fill bins and cover tables.

Everything in the room - absolutely everything - is coated in a thin layer of stardust. It grinds beneath your feet as you walk, and its cold metallic scent suffuses the area. No difficulty, then, in obtaining a sample, and in short order you're out the door.


A Brittle Tome