You stare in wonder at the exhibition of dolls in this room. Faceless but perfect female forms of all sizes are propped about in various poses, some inextricably bound together in unnatural positions.
The sealed vat in the center is filled with large doll extremities and discarded parts visible behind glass. Standing on top is a zombie-like figure which can only be Welor. He prods and fondles the dolls mindlessly.
What have they done to him? Or was he like this before? Why would the countess place him here with his dolls and no tools or semblance of a workshop? You've seen enough and leave the way you came. 