The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Heavy snowflakes fall gently in a seemingly abandoned, centuries-old, Orthodox church, its intricate, gold-leaf frescoes somehow intact despite the obvious neglect and peeling plaster. Uh, like, the air inside is musty, thick with incense and a hint of sandalwood, but it's eerily silent – no wind whistling through broken panes or creaking wooden floorboards. The heavy, ornate chandeliers hang motionless above the empty pews, yet an immaculate, and somehow steaming hot, Turkish coffee rests on a small, velvet-covered altar. The coffee's fragrance mingles with the cold, crisp air that seeps through the crack beneath the old wooden door.