DX01: SINGULARITY 31524
The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Dense, blackthorn thickets writhe up the weathered, granite facade of an ancient, abandoned priory, their twisted, barbed limbs tangled with rusty, broken bellpulls that seem to be caught mid-ring, like frozen screams. Uh, the heavy, late-morning air clings to my skin, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying parchment, while inside, dusty, rose-colored windows cast kaleidoscopic patterns on the walls, defying the grey, overcast sky outside. In the center of the priory, an ancient, wooden wheel creaks and slowly rotates, driven by no apparent force, its worn, grooved surface etched with symbols that pulse like live coals. The stone walls are slick with rain, though the air is completely still.
