The window provided a clean path to peek. The various debris has pulled back to reveal the object of my searching, a plain-walled outbuilding. Slowly I advanced, until I could look inside.
Or, at least, nothing to explain why I had been sent to look after her.
The room seemed to occupy the entire ground floor. It was sparsely furnished, with eye entrapping art on two of the four walls along with the ceiling and the floor, together forming a mural that completely surrounded an empty chair in the center. The far wall was, was—hmm.
The far wall looked like it was miles away.
The floor was orange. Not a subtle sort of orange either. It roiled, as if it was the surface of a pot of orange liquid at a full rolling boil. And yet, if I focussed on a single point, it was still and cold. As floors go, it was pretty unreal. Looking to my left, the rolling boil of a floor calmed and merged with a serene painting that conveyed abject humility before an unknowable universe. Looking too closely made me doubt my own calling, and I had to look away. The ineffable was souped up on the ceiling in a painting that was the complete opposite of the floor. The lines were graceful and still. It was calming to look at, almost hypnotic. The subtle layers of patterns drew the eye and captured the attention, and before I knew it I was partly through the window. Not good. I backed out slowly before I was overcommitted, and looked to my right. Then wished I hadn’t. The painting was bold and angry, and pointed. Or rather edgy. It had a distinct edge to it that left no doubt in my mind of my fate should I actually step inside the room.
My blood would spill messily on the orange floor, but be quickly dispersed in as it continued to boil.
I backed away slowly, glad to be dodging what seemed inevitable as I made my escape.