Satan was breathing heavily as he sat in a simple, high-backed chair at a round stone table in the center of the room.
The chamber was dimly lit by sconces set into the walls, their flickering flames casting restless shadows across the cold, dark stone. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and strange artifacts filled the corners, and a faint, metallic scent lingered in the air; it was the smell of thick ether, which couldn't be found anywhere in the world unless one was near an ether well.
Despite its foreboding atmosphere, this was still the Lord Observer's personal domain. Yet, there was no throne here, no raised dais or seat of power, just the table and fourteen chairs, all equal. The absence was deliberate. It meant the Lord Observer himself would not be coming.
This was a place that any recorder could come if they wished to, but they couldn't leave the room and go anywhere else within the domain. Not that it had any doors. Satan could leave the studio whenever he wanted to.
