The North Wing
Entering the room, Madame Vereaux gave a small cry of delight, noticing the
bits of painted eggshell scattered about its floor like
slivers of hard candy. It took the others a moment to realize what had appealed to her
so, for the colored shell blended perfectly with a fractalline mosaic of semi-precious
stones worked into the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room.
Miss Sunnington, meanwhile, was admiring an antique lace dress, complete with veil, that was spread against the outer wall, contrasting strikingly with the jumbled colors of the stone itself. Sunlight from the atrium, visible beyond a balcony extending from the inner wall, illuminated it.
Mr. Gilby occupied himself with a brittle tome on a pedestal in the center of the room, its pages wrinkling with age. Every so often, a quizzical expression overtook him, and he seemed to be contemplating some great mystery or hidden truth.
Madame Vereaux, having finished tracing the whorling patterns of motley color across the floor, now found her way to a long albino snakeskin delicately extended, its head and empty eyes nearly touching the top of the frosted glass door to the East Wing.