...its arms and legs lick the darkness around it and reveal a room around it. Books, easels, notepads and paintings litter the floor; you would have difficulty finding their way across the room without stubbing their toe and falling amongst the portraits and the papyrus.
An artist's workshop, surely.
This workshop has seen use: many of the writings have been shriveled up, more beautiful versions having been produced in their steads and the canvases have already been filled. Manipulations, space, horror, portraits; this artist had an eye for the abstract and the desperate state of the room makes you wonder if the artist hasn't been lost inside one of his one works.
A second light appears, this one outside the room, but slowly piercing through the numerous cracks of the only door to this workshop. The rustic door begins to creak as the makeshift knob slowly turns and the door opens...
An artist, in one way or another, once and always.