The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dusty, rose-colored light spills through the stained glass panels set into a delicate, filigreed dome high above, casting a warm glow across an intricate, spiral-patterned mosaic that seems to be shifting, rearranging its own tiles to reflect a cryptic, Aramaic phrase that's etched into the rim of a massive, stone fountain at the room's center. The air's heavy with the scent of incense and something sweetly, unpleasantly decaying, like... roses rotting from the inside out. Water's flowing upwards through the fountain's basin, defying gravity, and the sound of softly lapping waves fills the stillness.