You stand at the threshold of the cellar, a strip of red carpet behind you and three steep steps leading down into shadow. The wooden door is still ajar, its frame holding back the cool, musty air that drifts up to meet you.
Below, the cellar is less a room than a jumble: sleeping bag crumpled on one side, a sewing machine next to it, boards and planks leaned precariously along the wall. Somewhere in the heap a hand saw glints faintly, as if waiting to be put to use.
The deeper you peer, the more the clutter reveals itself — a bulky CRT monitor half-buried under cables, shelves crowded with computer parts, pipes and wires tracing a confusing pattern across the low ceiling. Every bit of space seems claimed by something that might one day prove useful.
On a high shelf, just within reach, a small server hums steadily, its quiet persistence the one sign of order in the chaos. If you dare to descend, you could step further into the cellar, or retreat instead up the short stairs to the corridor, leaving the shadows behind.