Ledger of Quiet Accord

You step through a doorway of woven starlight and low, warm air. Lanterns of spun glass hang like captive moons; the floor is a checker of polished obsidian and ivory, warmed by unseen hearth-runes. The room is divided into curtained booths—tall, narrow alcoves lined in velvet where only a slice of table shows—each lit by a single floating teardrop of light. Conversation is soft and deliberate: measured angelic vowels, clipped infernal consonants, the clink of delicate porcelain. Servitors in neutral grey livery glide between booths bearing trays of steam and petals; the scent of bergamot and brimstone hangs together like a promise. On the wall, a map of interplanar ley-lines is studded with brass pins: a subtle reminder that agreements here are meant to be binding.