The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gently falling snow is covering this massive, sprawling library, like, burying the books and shelves under drifts that are somehow not messing with their perfect organization. Umm, air's super crisp, and I can smell... leather, and paper, I think. The sky above is a pale grey, and sunlight's barely peeking through, but somehow, all the books are perfectly lit, like the snow is... refracting the light or something, and a giant, frozen fountain pen is just... stuck in the snow, ink flowing out of it in a steady stream that's somehow not freezing.