The candle of his flesh burned out in the midst of the Great Nothing. Fluttering at the tip of the wick, the flame of the Glint of His Soul cast thousands of silent Shadows. Here one of the Faceless bowed her head to her shoulder, grunted thoughtfully and wrinkled her forehead. A local second of eternity to think - and Shadow took up the artifact brush of the work of the Hands of Himself. The shaft is from the young escape of the Tree of Worlds. Tassel - from the wool of the Heavenly Beast. The only reality in this layer. Stardust under the paws of his roads...