John William Waterhouse Lamia

John William Waterhouse LamiaVincent van Gogh The Yellow HouseLeonardo da Vinci Virgin of the Rocks
Then an idea came to him so suddenly it felt like an electric shock.
If there were myriads of worlds, why did the knife only open windows between this one and his own?
Surely it should cut into any of them.
He held it up again, letting his mind flow along to the very tip of the blade as Giacomo Paradisi had told him, until his consciousness nestled among the atoms themselves and he felt every tiny snag and ripple in the air.
Instead of cutting as soon as he felt the first little halt, as he usually did, he let the knife move on to another and another.some he felt more easily than others, and, already knowing the answer, he cut one through to be sure: his own world again.
He closed it up and felt with the knife tip for a snag with a different quality. He found one that was elastic and resistant, and let the knife feel its way through. It was like tracing a row of stitches while pressing so softly that none of them was harmed."What are you doing?" said the voice from the air, bringing him back."Exploring," said Will. "Be quiet and keep out of the way. If you come near this you'll get cut, and if I can't see you, I can't avoid you."Balthamos made a sound of muted discontent. Will held out the knife again and felt for those tiny halts and hesitations.There were far more of them than he'd thought. And as he felt them without the need to cut through at once, he found that they each had a different quality: this one was hard and definite, that one cloudy; a third was slippery, a fourth brittle and frail...But among them all there were