The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Gentle sunlight filters through the dusty windows of a cozy, old cottage kitchen. Umm, the air's warm and humid, smelling like baking bread and fresh milk, and a group of chickens are quietly pecking at crumbs on the stone floor. Like, an old wooden spoon somehow steadily stirs a giant pot of stew on its own, the ingredients somehow shifting and rearranging themselves without any apparent movement. Outside, the sound of buzzing bees and chirping birds mingles with the occasional clucking from the chickens.