I squeeze past her, entering a dimly lit hallway. On the ceiling hangs paintings of the moon in all her glory. She glows brightly, lighting up the hallway. I look around, taking in the sights - paintings of dancing queens and shooting stars, twirling in their frames. Statues turn their heads to follow our journey. We finally find the light at the end of the tunnel, a sitting room fitted with a coffee table and three couches placed around it. I sink onto one of the deep burgundy cushions, sighing.