The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Ancient cypress trees tower above, their twisted limbs tangled with luminescent Spanish moss, casting an ethereal glow across the fog-shrouded landscape. Like, the air's heavy with mist and the scent of decaying wood, but a subtle tang of ozone and frankincense lingers underneath. The sky above is an impenetrable grey, as if the sun's been extinguished. The air pressure feels thick, with an electric charge that makes the hairs on my skin stand up, yet a small, crystalline birdcage suspended from a branch seems to be filled with an active, whirling tornado of autumn leaves, perfectly contained.