The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Shattered stained-glass windows filter a faint, emerald light into a cramped, medieval oratory. Umm, wispy incense trails rise from intricately carved, Solomonic censers suspended by chains from a vaulted ceiling, as if still in use despite the oratory being partially submerged in murky, stagnant water. The air's heavy with the scent of decay, damp earth, and myrrh, the atmosphere stale and still, and somehow, the partially exposed pipe organ appears to be drawing in and compressing the shadows cast by the faint light, as if it's slowly inhaling the darkness.