It was a hotel room, really. White walls, white ceilings, wood-plank floor so glossy it was white too-- were it not for the bed, it could've passed off as a high-end electronics official store. It was all the aesthetics of corporate: bare, clean, polished to blinding shine, fake as a customer service smile. What color there were were carefully picked to be neutral. An off-black for contrast, they said, and dark wood for that elegant warmth, a map of the world on the wall to telegraph a sense of adventure, of that spirit of travel. Had to have personality, they said. Too white, and people would feel unwelcome. Too white, and the coldness would seep through...
But the bed was fine. It had space to roll around, the duvet just this side of worn as to not be cold, stiff, starched fabric. It helped that the color was friendly. The color of friendly concrete, sure, but it was a welcome break from the white of the ceiling. Even sitting up, the first color to see was white. At this point, all they did was move the arctic snowglare into a room... God, the daytime sunlight came in from the bathroom, yet it felt like the death throes of the sun had finally arrived outside. Was this the "corona" part of the virus? Humanity's front-row seat view of the transformation of the sun into a red giant? Time moved faster for objects at rest. Two weeks of quarantine, just to get to this country. Maybe a couple thousand years had passed? There was no way to check, this place had no clock. No TV either. Wouldn't be surprising, though, if an eternity had passed. Look at that sky. Did that look like a normal sun to you? It was so blindingly white.
Maybe it was time to check. Go beyond those pristine white panes...
(In short, I lost my sanity halfway through staring at that room)