Upon the table, there is an overturned ink pot with a quill left next to it. A book sits open, but it does not have anything written upon the pages left in it. It is soaking up the ink well enough, though. Perched on the edge is a simple jewelry box with a gold key in the lock. It sits open and filled to the brim with flowers, and you can smell an old, old floral scent coming from it. It seems like some of the flowers are decomposing, hmm . . .