The first thing he notices upon his awakening is the cool breeze brushing against his face.
He's seated comfortably on a cushion, hands folded in his lap and legs planted firmly on the solid surface beneath his feet. It's shaking a little, and he hears something that sounds like a horse's neigh. He doesn't really understand why, but he's more interested in what he is doing here in the first place, for the last thing he remembers is lying down on his bed, finally getting the proper rest he deserved after being horribly sleep-deprived for the past week.
He remembers the silky sensation of his covers as he wrapped himself up with them. He remembers watching the moonbeams penetrating his window, and he remembers getting up to close the curtains. He doesn't remember the curtains being blue, though.
Yet here he is, in a tiny space with walls painted a deep shade of blue. He doesn't look down, but he's certain that the ground is blue as well, though he cannot offer a valid explanation for such feelings. The lighting is dim, but he's aided well by the moonlight coming in from the round hole next to him so he's able to make out the shape of a small round table in front of him. It is, doubtlessly, covered with a blue cloth.
There is a man sitting behind the table. He leans forward to get a better look, but finds himself unable to move, as if some force is holding him in place. He tries to curl his fingers, but they, too, remain perfectly still. It is then that he realises that he's not breathing. His heart is silent, despite the peculiarity of the circumstances he is currently in. The shaking has stopped.
In this moment of serenity and calmness, he hears a deep, smooth voice reverberating in his head. Then he focuses his gaze on the man before him, and doesn't flinch when he finds himself staring into a pair of bloodshot eyes, filled with what appears to be excitement and delight.
"Welcome to the Velvet Room."
And the carriage moves on.