((So this is the story based off my old story Joseph's beginning, re-edited))
Upon a pocket dimension …
The fires crackling upon the stove hearth, supporting its weight with milky white limestone, in contrast to the Dark wine red wallpapered walls that reinforced the back of the rusty stove. Lying just a few feet away from the mouth of the hearth, a small assortment of Victorian furniture are strewn across the little room.
The ones farthest from the fire's reach are too far to be seen, shrouded by a near pitch-black shade. Focusing your eyes on the two objects well-lit by the wood-eater's blaze: a burgundy back buttoned armchair with mahogany dragon legs supporting its mass; littered closely the chair were stacks-upon-stacks of books, rolls of delicate manuscripts tied with color-coded ribbons, and to the right of the chair held a circular drawer-less, night-stand on top of it was a miner's lamp, a big square bottle of tonic, a short glass of the liquid tipping near the edge. And a blank gypsy's sphere held on-top of ebony human-hands.
Nearing the armchair in a dreamy pace, you finally are poised to sit down upon its thick velvet, before you hear a throat being cleared right behind you. You instinctively look behind, and find a Sherlock Holmes impersonator side burns, red robe, pipe and all.
You instantly swiveled your body to face the man before you, repeating apologies, before stumbling upon a mysterious chair, catching yourself you try to apologize again. The man held up his hand and meandered around the chair before sitting his butt down on the seat and dropping his hand. He habitually crossed his legs, removed his pipe and quickly brought the nightstand in front of him in advance to placing the pipe back to his mouth. He finally crooked his index finger and un-curled it gestured me forward.
You didn't want to near the man, still trying to absorb the information before me, but the chair that caught my fall lifted itself just an inch above the ground and raced forward to the other side of the table opposite of the man.
The chair seemed to have cast the spell onto your body, gluing your feet, rear-end, and your hands to the seat just between your legs.
He lifted the wine bottle and glass in his right hand holding the glass expertly between his fore-fingers, and the lamp in the other, all placing them beneath the table.
He grinned knowingly, showing very little of his pearly whites; he didn't need an answer if that's what you're wondering. "Came to see, good ol' Mr. Kevin for a story, huh? I have something special for you younin'!" he emphasized his last sentence in hidden glee, but showed it in his sparkling sky-blue eyes.
((pls comment, dunno if i'll continue))