With each passing glance, the smallest lacquered cabinet's flamboyant patterns gracefully outlined in jade bothers me more and more. The design is pronounced enough to constantly irritate but complex enough to demand study. Whenever my eyes trace the subtle flaws in the craftsmanship, the irregular angles seem almost to mock those who would say it is truly worthy of praise. Perhaps it is due to my superior eyesight that such a thing is noticed. The only positive thing I can say of the wretched piece is that the eyes must have originally been done very well. Almost too well if truth be told. There is an almost realistic quality to them.
Despite this quality, their color is now repugnant, almost revolting; carved originally from pearl, it has clouded and yellowed thanks to the passage of time. Our room is such a fair distance from the main hall I cannot help but think that the owners must have hated it to place it so far away. I hate it myself if not only for the life like eyes and for the way the firelight dances off those irregular angles accentuating their grotesque detail.
The sound of soft footsteps draws me from my musings and I feel the urge to beg her to allow me to turn the wretched cabinet to face the wall or leave this palace that sets my hair on end. To argue the latter, however, I know is futile and despite my promises to return it to its original place once we leave this infernal hell, she has instructed me that punishment would follow if I so much as touched the blasted piece. It was too fragile to be moved or so she tells me.
Once this storm passes, I shall never return here so long as I may live and that will not be for many centuries to come. Even if I should come across this place again in a millennia, I would be remiss not to say it had been too soon.