When he opens his eyes, he knows he 's not in the right world.

He lifts a hand slightly, watching the way it trails like the tail of a comet into the air around him, barely tangible, and mostly incorporeal. Like he 's an apparition more than a human.

'Is this the original again? '

He wonders, eyeing the small home he 's materialized in, the table he 's leaned against.

It isn 't much- maybe a small, abandoned cottage far outside of a big city, somewhere. Old wallpaper, dusty surfaces, certain windows boarded up. There 's the tang of salt in the air like an afterthought, as if it could be near the ocean. It doesn 't look like a place anyone would live comfortably, more so than just for a few nights at a time. When he turns slightly, eyes following along the sad, musty d 'cor, he freezes. A four-sided, closed-eyed cube fills his sight, sitting innocuously on a cushion on the tabletop as if someone had deliberately placed it there.