Edwin Takes A Break.

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 Edwin awoke in a room bathed in a soft glow. The scent of aged leather and mahogany filling the air. Tapestries and art adorned the free walls, the rest filled with beautiful dark wooden shelves lined with leather-bound books reaching towards the high ceiling. The air was pleasantly warm and all in all it seemed to be a very pleasant space. Except that he had no idea where he was or how he came to be there.


Edwin stood up from the plush, high-backed armchair beside a crackling fireplace where he had awoken. The flames in the fireplace danced above the coal with a warmth that hinted at the fire being laid with no limit set by cost. As he explored the shelves he realised that the room was a sanctuary of literary treasures and the collection encompassed every aspect of knowledge and interest he could imagine.


He marvelled at the details of the room, the intricate woodwork was outstanding, stained glass windows were an incandescent splendour, and a grand chandelier that cast a gentle twinkling radiance over the scene. The air, tinged with the aroma of wood, books, furniture polish and sunlight, held a certain timelessness that defied the mundane concerns of the world Edwin was used to.


In front of Edwin lay a polished oak table, adorned with a porcelain tea set and an array of delicate pastries. A cup of Earl Grey tea awaited his touch, steam curling upwards in graceful wisps. As he sipped the fragrant brew, the taste stirred memories that he had long forgotten and the tea was, well, perfect. It was all perfect. He realised that if he were to write a list of his most perfect room, filled with his very favourite things, this would be it. Even the art on the walls was exquisite. There was, however, no door.


But where was he? How did this come about? He couldn’t recall arriving, nor falling asleep in a very comfortable chair nor of ever seeing this place before.


And so, amid the opulent charm of the library, a quiet unease settled within Edwin's soul. The peaceful quiet was, there was no doubt, a soothing balm, but he began to experience a weight of isolation. The grandeur of the room, though captivating, began to concern him. He realised that the books were all his old favourites - there was nothing new. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. The wireless, when he turned it on was tuned to a station that seemed to play reruns of old radio. There was no tuning to another channel. As if the books and the place was frozen in perpetual tales of yesteryear, he thought.


Time passed, of course and it wasn’t an unpleasant place to be, by any means. Food seemed to appear. Perfectly cooked and delicious. There was an en suite bathroom. The table, once he had dined seemed to somehow clear itself. But Edwin began to realise that the library, despite its magnificence, was a cage, all be it a gilded cage. The beauty that surrounded him, meticulously tailored to evoke a sense of comfort and grandeur, and to cater to his every want and need only served to accentuate his solitude. The world outside the stained glass windows remained veiled in mystery, an elusive place that increasingly he yearned to touch.


The ticking of the ornate grandfather clock marked the passing of hours, each chime a reminder of his timeless confinement within the library's embrace. Edwin  sank into the velvet depths of the armchair.


In the Victorian elegance that cradled him, Edwin grappled with the paradox of a beautiful prison. The scent of aged leather and the hushed whispers of forgotten tales echoed in the room, where the passage of time became an unyielding barrier. Edwin drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

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