A small footbridge takes you to this cramped room below the tower.

A desk, a chair, a rustic seat, a canopy bed.

Do not bother to look: I am nowhere to be found.

That statue of sand lying on the bed, defaced by some ill-intentioned visitor (or by myself?) and a reminder of those recumbent figures in the crypt, does not necessarily resemble me.

If you must give it a face, invent it yourself.