The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: A delicate latticework of crystalline stalactites hangs from a high, domed ceiling, somehow filled with what looks like live, iridescent butterflies. Uh, they're not moving, but I can see them flapping their wings – just really, really slowly, like a weird, stop-motion animation. The air's pretty damp, with the sweet smell of sugar cookies wafting through the air, and... it's snowing outside, I guess, judging by the blurred, frost-covered window at the far end of this cavernous room. Shards of broken porcelain are scattered across the floor.