In the snowland.

I'm at my parent's house and everything around me has something magical in it: all these books from their library room, old and new, with illustrations and without, my old good piano, notebooks, pictures, my sister's violins, little sculptures, stamp collections, all grandmum's boxes, saucers and cups collections with this feel of lace and history to it, even wallpaper patterns, and a huge mirror in the bathroom, all the endless snowing outside.
And there are stars glowing in the dark on the ceiling of my room.