A many secret tunnels and compartments as I could get in there. And one room right in the center that only I know about. In it, there would be only a chair, and a table with a chess set. The chair would be on the black player's side. There would be a game in progress, with each side having lost an equal amount of pieces.
It would be a reflection of my mind, the dark rational part of me seeking to control the light, caring parts . Though neither can truly overwhelm the other, the chair represents what trait I firmly believe defines me. It is how I present myself, how I think I am precieved, who I want to be. But no matter how hard I try, people will always see that the other half of me constantly battling with how I present myself. Never overtaking it, but never completely gone. It represents the frailty of my image, or even my naivete that I could ever change it in the first place.
Or that's what people who discover it after I die might think. I actually have no fucking idea how to play chess. I just like screwing with people, and the thought of confusing a bunch of people trespassing in my goddamn castle is fun.