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The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Shafts of pale morning sunlight filter through the stained glass ceiling of a sprawling, abandoned oratory, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the intricately inlaid marble floor. Umm, the air's crisp and still, with a faint scent of old incense, and I can see a series of massive, crystalline formations growing out of the ornate stone pedestals, somehow refracting the light into tiny, glittering rainbow-colored motes suspended above the pews. A delicate, porcelain-white dove is perched on the altar, its eyes glowing with an ethereal, pearlescent light. The dove's wings are beating at a hypnotic, perfectly metronomic pace.