The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A massive, ornate Baroque-style fountain sits in the center of a sun-drenched courtyard, surrounded by terracotta-tiled roofs and worn stone walls. The air's warm and still, with a hint of citrus and damp earth, and it feels like late afternoon. A blurry figure's sitting on the fountain's edge, and... uh, it's me, I guess, though I still can't make out any details. Part of the Eiffel Tower's iron latticework somehow extends seamlessly from the fountain's base, like it just grows naturally out of the stone.