Carlisle is stunned into utter silence, his eyes wide, aglow as they take in the sight before him. Yes indeed, that is the house — his house, the Longinmouth Manor. It is a house of which he knows every inch and detail; it is where he lived, died, and rose into undeath. It is also worlds away, and yet, it stands before them both, so real that for the breadth of a second, he's not entirely certain it isn't.

Though normally not a fan of figments or illusions of any kind, Carlisle cannot help himself as he takes a tentative step forward, his hand pressing against his chest as he feels emotion stirring within him. There's longing and remorse, happiness and sadness in equal measure: the last time he saw his home was when Reynir entered his dreams, and he watched his garden wither before his own eyes. It hadn't felt nearly as real as this.

Carlisle closes his eyes, trying to compose himself. Qubit managed to translate every detail from his meticulous illustrations into this simulation, but the neural scan starts filling in even more minutiae: certain rocks beneath their feet crack and dry as moss forms on the overhang above the front entrance; one window on the left side cracks and mends, the former fissure still visible from an imperfect melding; a stone toad appears half-buried in the snow beside the front steps, having been hidden in the bushes in his drawings.

By the time Carlisle manages to open his eyes again, it is perfect. He lets out a disbelieving chuckle, his hand still at his chest.

"How- how thorough you were! This is... certainly not what I expected in any regard, Mister Qubit. You needn't have- you needn't have gone to such lengths to... to make my drawings—"

He cuts himself off, shaking his head as he looks back at his home. He's truly at a loss for words — a rarity. He finally figures out something to say.

"It's as if we're there. And I know I ought not trust my eyes, but- but I haven't seen it in so long."