My room:
Cold because there is no heat.
Dark because the only light comes from two gothic candle holders that flank my desk.
Glittering light emanates from the one log that is burning in the fire place.
There is a bust of Beethoven on the mantle.
My desk is but a piece of wood erected on top of two tree stumps (the roots chopped of course).
The desk is scattered with manuscripts and my one writing utensil - the big black quill plucked from an Ostrich.