Describe a room

The panelled oak doors, painted to the color of burnt aubergine, lead into a large room with double ceiling height. There are bookcases running along the back wall with a small wooden balcony that splits them into two. An old ornamented spiral staircase made of metal, leads to the balcony of the library and two wooden ladders run along the bookcases, one on each level. Endless rows of books almost obsessively organized by countries, authors and genres, line up on the shelves. All of the books have been read and almost all of them have old bookmarks sticking out from the top. Some old classics lay in piles on the balcony floor, yet to find their place on the shelves. In the middle of the room rests an elaborate silk Persian rug that has seen many years pass and with the years it's vibrant reds and blues have become muted, creating a more subdued scene. A large, bulky sofa of pale grey leather heavily sits on top of the rug, hiding a stitched walnut tree in the rug from the destructive rays of the sun. There is a small round table next to the sofa with some books on top of it, one lays open waiting to be picked up again, and a water carafe with glasses next to it. Two pashminas with traditional Rajashtani embroidery are mindfully thrown over the arms of the sofa, as to make it look like they lay there casually. A tall brass floor lamp with a green glass shade hangs over the sofa, giving light to the absent reader. Opposite the sofa sits a grand chaise of green velvet and mahogany wood, the back of it curving elegantly and accentuating it's claim to the Louis XIV era. Out of place, two shabby armchairs stick out, one with a hole in the back of it, and a wooden coffee table that pull together the sitting area on the rug. There are countless notebooks covering the coffee table, some opened with a pen resting on it, some organized into neat stacks and tied with leather strings. A grand piano sits before the three large french doors, music notes scattered across the top of it. The wooden piano stool has a leather cushion on it for comfort. And the cushion has a deep dent in the middle, left there by the pianist's heavy body sitting on it, making the notes on the papers turn into melodies. The curtains on the french doors are drawn and sunlight washes over the grand room, making the dust particles flying around distinct. The wall of books is safe at the back of the room, untouched by the rays of the afternoon sun. Apple trees outside in the garden cast their long shadows on the Persian rug and furniture, swaying to the rhythm of the wind blowing in from the sea...