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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Umm, sunlight's filtering through a latticework of intricately carved wooden shutters, casting a complex pattern on the dusty floor of what looks like an old, abandoned observatory. The air's stale and still, with a scent of old wood polish and a hint of...burnt offerings, I guess. A beautifully crafted, brass orrery is somehow still moving, its gears whirring softly as the planets and celestial bodies orbit each other in a mesmerizing dance, despite the fact that the clockwork mechanism is literally disassembled, with gears and springs scattered all around it. The sky outside is a deep, foreboding indigo.