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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Tendrils of frost creep across the face of a Neoclassical-style mausoleum that sits at the center of a small, rime-encrusted island, surrounded by the perfectly still, pale blue waters of a vast, frozen loch. Shards of quartz sprout organically from the stone façade, casting tiny, diffuse rainbows across the frost-covered ground as the pale light of the low sun catches them, and the air's crisp, dry quality makes my skin feel tight. The loch's ice is somehow flexible, undulating like a sheet of gelatin in the distance, despite the stillness of the air. Umm, a sweet scent of frankincense wafts from within the mausoleum.