Books floated like sleeping birds, their pages turning on their own, telling stories that changed depending on who was reading them. A forgotten cup of tea sat on a floating nightstand, still steaming after a hundred years, the liquid inside swirling into shapes of faraway places.
All you have to do is close your eyes, and believe you are already there. dreamy room 389
The door to Room 389 never made a sound. It opened not with a click or a creak, but with the soft sigh of a held breath finally released. Books floated like sleeping birds, their pages turning