Claire’s grandfather was a force of nature, he blew rather than walked through the doors, in a motion more akin to a rushing wind than to a living breathing person.
When she was about six Claire started wondering what had happened to her parents. She tried to ask her grandparents about them, but they got so upset with her that she cried for days and decided never to bring up the subject again.
It was vast, this mansion of her grandparents where she had grown up, but Claire didn’t know it at the time; she never questioned what she saw because she’d never known another way of life. For her the mansion and its garden were the world.
And thus Cimmy solved the problem that had tormented sages and saints forever: if there was a God, how did he allow so much evil in the world?
It was very simple. God’s reality was still a work in progress, as of yet unfinished.
Behind the magnifying glasses, a cluster of entities wandered about in fluid motion, some small and red, some large and white, an entire world of blobs floating purposefully in a clear liquid, the internal structure of living things.