The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's pouring upwards from a stone baptismal font in this ruined, Baroque-style monastery, accumulating in a massive, crystalline prism that seems to be anchoring the air around it. Uh, the scent of damp stone and rose petals is heavy in the air, which feels supercharged with an electric tension that's making my skin crawl. Sunlight's filtering through the stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the cracked flagstones, but somehow the colors appear to be bleeding out of the stone itself, not just reflected onto it. The sky outside is a deep, sickly green.