The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Ancient cedars tower above a clearing in a misty, dawn-lit cedar forest, umm, somehow reflecting the colors of the sky on their trunks in perfect, undistorted mirrors. Water trickles up from the damp, fern-covered undergrowth into tiny, gleaming glass vials suspended by nearly invisible silk threads, each containing a delicate, hand-carved wooden rose petal. The air's crisp and still, heavy with the scent of damp earth, and a gentle, golden light filters through the canopy above. The petals seem to be quietly, individually chanting sections of the Picatrix.