You step into a room passing massive wooden double doors and enter a room beyond all images of morbid beauty. Pillars line the room, seemingly tinted with blood. Torchlight plays eerie light along the walls and floor. The very flood on which you stand seems a solid, unbroken stone rippled and curved with veins, pooling with blood. But with each step you find it is merely an illusion, no blood and no rises or falls in the stone. Curtains billow and flutter in an ever-present breeze behind the stone pillars. The curtains maintain a steady block against daylight, and simple decor against the blandness of the Night. From a window in the back of the room, mountain ranges break the land and reach skyward, seeming to be attempting to tear the heavens asunder. And in the center of the room, a tub rests, seemingly reft of stone or lined and carved from metal. Yet which is uncertain, seemingly stone pretending to be metal, or metal to be stone. In the center of the metalic carvings on the side, a woman becons you, calling you to her, enticing you to enter the tub, yet behind seem briars and thornbushes to tangle you there. Reaching the side of the tub, you reach a hand in and seem actually shocked to find the water a deep red, sprinkled with rose petals, both wilted and fresh. Yet as you pull away, your hand is slicked in oily wetness. Obviously, the reason for the name of the room.