Enter bathroom

You enter the bathroom, a dusty but surprisingly polished space walled by concrete and tiled with a chipped ceramic enamel of unknown origin. You take pride in keeping this space cleaner than most. A wash basin shines in one corner below the frame of what was once a mirror. The remains of a porcelain toilet, an incredibly convenient pneumatic marvel that in ages past apparently carried waste aromatically away to be dealt with elsewhere, rests in the other corner. It doesn’t work, of course. Traders tell of artificers in distant lands that have relearned the lost art of waste management, but your poor village can barely feed itself these days, let alone fuss with pipes. An iron bucket serves your waste management needs.

 

There is a tub too, but the effort of carrying water to your dwelling is usually too much to bother bathing. Your father used to do that for your family, you suppose. He left long ago.