The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Like, dense foliage envelops a dilapidated, baroque greenhouse, vines bursting through shattered windows as sunlight filters in from above. A faint scent of wet earth and myrrh hangs heavy in the humid air. Water pours upwards from a cracked fountain, forming a delicate, crystalline bridge that supports the remaining intact glass panels, and outside, I see snow falling in reverse, drifting upwards from the ground into a swirling vortex that hovers just above the treeline. Umm, the air is charged with an electric stillness, like the moment before a storm breaks.