The air is thick with motes of dust dancing in the dim light and the scent of lemon polish nearly masks the smell of musk. Heavy oak shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling bow under the weight of countless items of undeterminable value. A stack of crates holding hundreds of used cards and wedding invitations rests against the end of a scarred counter. In one corner, a canvas sack full of dull jelly beans lies against a box overflowing with used shapers. You also see Oweede.
Obvious exits: out.