So this was the new world. He thought he’d already found it, but it turned out that there was a world beyond that world, and then another beyond that, and even then at least the creator’s intimation of other worlds. They unfolded eternally, as in a hall of black mirrors in which only the crystalline image of himself, running hard for his very life, was the constant, the bridge that lifted him from one world to the next, at once less and more of himself than he’d been a world before.
