The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Uh, everything's covered in a thick layer of frost... A perfectly circular library stretches out around me with towering shelves that seem to touch a glass ceiling. Outside, the sky's a deep shade of indigo with stars twinkling like... they're actually, physically just outside the glass, no space or anything, and that's somehow not blowing everything to pieces. In the center of the room, a blurry figure faces a shelf filled with leather-bound tomes bound with silver wire, and, I mean, that's me, I guess, but it's all distorted, like a reflection in rippling water.