The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's seeping out of a massive, ornate fountain in the center of a sprawling, abandoned courtyard, somehow forming perfect geometric patterns on the dusty ground without being shaped by any physical forces. Like, a low-pressure system seems to be settling in, judging by the dropping air pressure, and the sky above is a sickly shade of chartreuse. The air's charged with a pungent, electric scent that's probably due to the series of crackling, iridescent tendrils snaking out from the fountain's basin – they seem to be devouring tiny, gemstone-colored birds that keep flying into the courtyard for some reason.