The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Glittering, crystalline dust falls slowly from a gaping hole in the sky, coating everything in a fine, sparkling layer. Umm, the air's crisp, with a hint of metallic tang, and the pressure's kind of high, making my ears feel plugged up. I'm surrounded by these... totally intact, 19th-century parlour rooms, like, dozens of them, complete with velvet-draped furniture and steaming tea sets, somehow just sitting in the middle of a barren, rocky plain under the pale light of a setting sun. One of the parlour rooms has a door that seems to open directly into the heart of a burning star.