It’s a clinic! Or... it was a clinic. The whole room reeks of smoke and burnt herbs, the walls are licked with sooty black marks, and what remains of the furniture in the room is blackened and charred.

...mostly. The apothecary’s cabinet against one wall has had the damaged drawers pulled out and arranged in a tidy pile; there’s tools for pulling them apart and sanding them laid out next to it. Some have even already been restored and replaced in the cabinet.

The charred bookcase against another wall looks like it should be falling apart, but it’s holding up well under the weight of a few new books on the shelves. There’s also a broom and dustpan tucked into one corner, clearly having been used to sweep most of the ash from out of the rest of the room.

In the middle of the room is a badly burnt examination table. Next to it is a steel table, assorted tools laid out in neat rows on it. A guttering but otherwise controlled fire burns on the cleared portion, with a pot of sluggishly simmering water sitting over it.

...You can feel eyes on you. Something is watching, though there doesn’t seem to be any threat to it... yet.