You come up two flights and there it is: one deep lamp, a bar cart that means it, and a window that holds the whole lit city. This is the room people ask for by name.
The Velvet Room is the one we'd keep for ourselves. It sits at the top of the house, away from the street, so the only sound after midnight is the ice settling in the bucket.
The bed is deep and low, dressed in heavy linen. The bar cart is stocked with the good stuff and a card that tells you how to use it. Leave the curtains open — the city does the rest.
Two aspects, a deep tub, the quiet corner of the floor.
Up under the eaves, a skylight, and the whole city humming below.