[The room that you enter is dim, the furnishings covered with a thin layer of dust; it smells musty here, the scent of a place that has not been aired for a long, long time. Drifting faintly in the air, there is the sound of a music box playing, and along one wall there stands a princess bed in deep, purple velvet. Most notable, however, are the dolls. They stand on the dresser and on the floor; they lie on the bed; they sit on the table. Every available surface is overrun with them. They are china dolls, with pale, pretty faces, and baby dolls with bare heads and staring eyes, and miniature mimes with bright clothing. They are intricately painted marionettes, and voodoo dolls of rough cloth, and corn husk dolls bound with twine, and dozens more besides.]
[Atop the table there is a box; purple velvet drapes it, concealing what lies within. There is no other door besides the one from which you entered.]