Long winded, eh?
The Orrery is Somne's proper domain. The automaton upkeeps and curates the massive space. An impressive gold-accented model of our neighborhood galaxy rotates on a slow, gargantuan rotation. The pieces, all told, form a glorious machine that reaches higher than a house. Arcs of gold orbits, shimmering lacquered planets, bits of fumed glass on gossamer wires dance in a star's calculation. A diode-covered planetoid even crackles with a simulated electrical storm. There is a hum in the glass-domed housing that fills the space with an eternal chant. While fantastical, none of it is improbable. Nothing, of course, excepting the dissolving ceiling... it vanishes before your eyes, replaced by a view of space itself so tangible you can see the milky spill of constellations in the third dimension.
A circular catwalk rings the higher reaches of the room for proper observation, accessed by a gold spiral staircase of filigreed steps. At the landing, a small table of phials, a small dish of pulls, a decanter and a smoke box. On the first floor one can stand and nearly touch the cogs and gears that give rotation to the machine, though there seems to be something glowing inside, and it is likely that this is truly what gives it power, much like the crystal drive that ultimately runs the friendly doll. Surrounding it, a sweeping, c-shaped couch that curls into a tete-a-tete at either end.
This, of all places, is the perfect surrounding for mind-opening activities and discussions.