Ohan Hominis — Rosewater

Her room smelled of rosewater. Large misshapen canvases of swaths of color, most of them with heavy hues of purples, haphazardly adorned the walls and therefore the overall sentiment of the space. 
An orange bookcase with a personality all its own stood self consciously along the far wall beckoning intruders to intervene on its perpetual introspection. 
Stacks comprised of a greater number of books than the shelves themselves could bare held court all around it, as potted ivy lay interspersed between literary giants and small colorful figurines of the buddha himself. 
Never had there been a more self aware bookcase. 
The furniture looked like it was fashioned by an apprentice to a carpentry student from twice removed reclaimed wood and the only seating option that looked like it could hold any weight, aside from the floor which was wall to wall, as floors generally are, was a literal stump of a wood sitting in the center of the room.
There was also a small carpet.