...All the Razor Perceptions that Cut Just a Little Too Deep...

Melchior turned his eyes, watching the dust dance in the light. his sight seemed unusually keen, for he imagined that he could actually focus on each mote. Hundreds, thousands, then tens of thousands of them were held in his mind as they formed and reformed into exquisite patterns, ghostly images that poised in air only to dissolve and be reborn again.

"What do you see?"

Melchior opened his mouth to answer but couldn't.

"Good. One should be dumbfounded to see reality for the first time -- worlds coming and going like dust in a beam of sunlight."