The Mansion’s dining room spans more than a hundred paces in length. Its width is enough for an aisle between two rows of tables against the walls. Elegantly dressed patrons dine and converse at the tables. A pedestal stands at the far end of the dining room, a useful item barely visible atop it.
As you walk past the tables, everyone looks at you with disgust at your faux pas. Their glances pierce harder with your every step. Their eyes scream shame the more you advance. A single step backward will take you out of the room.