The Institute (62)

The gloomy and cold ambiance in the room was supported by the strange sense of ritual that shrouded the place in the heavy, humid air. The scent of roses and sea salt seemed to have intertwined to become an overpowering and penetrating fragrance, that cut like sharp blades.

It still retained an old rustic sense from the last century, but the humid and decadent air had been corroded slowly by the bright light that shone faintly in the darkroom. The dark red pattern on the beige wallpaper on the walls had at some point disappeared, the painting distorted into long, smiling faces. The huge and brilliant candle-lit chandelier hanging from the ceiling was lit and the previously overturned and smashed desks looked to have been restored to their previous appearance.