Rourup Observatory

It was cursed before the last vine grew in place. The last vine never properly grew in anyways. Rourup was designed to be far away from all light, atop a hill within the forest, long abandoned and stretching out over the canopy of thick eucalyptus and strangling vine. It was atop a granite mound, fungus bonded to the roots to push it deep within the rock and find purchase - but it dug too deep and absorbed something wrong.
  The first hints that this incomplete observatory is unwell cannot be seen from outside. Its outer casing is fine, with vinular snakes arching around the membrane that closes the massive door from outside. Should you find your way inside, feeling the unnatural chill in the air, and you might look up for the source to see that the roof has not grown closed. At night you'd see stars and nebula and constellations, but for some reason your eyes can't focus and instead you are met with an navy-ink stained gap.
  Vines weave to make the flooring too, with shelves growing uncontrollably from the walls at weird angles, tributes from old guests left on them, in an effort to find some way to stay, to encourage the project to finish. It is in this main hall that the basin that would hold the massive mercurial mirror sits, the framing that would support the tube as it grows also beside it taking up too much space.
  Eyes watch you as you come into the next space, a small study alcove, designed for the 3 researchers that would inhabit this stellar space at any one time. From the walls (always from the walls) fingers of fungus grow out, fleshy in look and stained the grey-red of troll-skin, and just as leathery. A binding showing a pygmy troll sits nearby, a combat mage swirling with vibrant green woad, eyes aflame as she defends her family.
  Maps also sit here, though not of the lands around, but of the skies, paperbark etched with image after image, all wrong and not just because of celestial drift. Tools lay scattered too, though a nasty gash runs from one point of something made to transcribe circles to the doorway, dried sap and resin like a scabbed wound upon the ground.
  You may leave back towards the main room, but the basin is gone, so are the struts, instead a massive root-born statue stands, bird like nose, thin, emaciated, with long flowing hair and eyes running up her arms. The eyes on her face cannot be seen but you feel them watching you everywhere.
  You retreat to a membrane set in a wall, rapidly pressing it open and you ascend, though from the outside there was no second floor. Everything is narrow here, and holes poke through the walls, letting you see the endless treeline outside and reminding you how trapped you are in the narrow winding halls of the second floor. They seem to go nowhere, but their pattern is unmistakable - the roots of a massive tree, the ghost of which this place must be sitting on. The more you walk the more your mind is reminded of your failings, every slight you've done the world or another - every act done for selfish reasons rather than to help your community. By the time you reach the landing, who knows what failings you might be aching to confess.
  You are both in the centre of all things and right on the edge when you arrive. Both a part of the void and so far away from it. Light from the stars, and light from the Well shine upon you here, and were your mind still all here you'd be able to make such wondrous revelations on the nature of the cosmos - but to get here you have already given so much of yourself to the judgement of the eyes that all you know is that the mirror will never find its true home, and none will ever get to stay and use this place for its purpose - instead it is the hall of judgement of something ancient. Whether this ancient will ever find itself worshipped again like it once was is a story for later, as Debron's light washes over you along with the moon, you wonder if you will ever find your way home.