Another 4,000 words or so. Uncertain execution. Julia has taken the stage, held it for but a brief moment, and now surrenders it to Father Timmon. Inevitable. Writing this chapter is like shouldering my way through a thicket of clustered saplings. Hard going.
Ever closer, though. Time to bring on the dark Father.
There should be a word for the effect caused by mirrors set up to face each other, the infinities summoned into existence in their eternal depths.