Reyn fell through nothing and everything at once. It made as much sense as it sounds.

  The void around her shimmered like crystal, each facet reflecting a different impossibility as far as Reyn was concerned. There was nothing she could do, so she let herself relax in the fall. No point in screaming and wailing around.

  Is that a window? Reyn thought right before realizing that between the towers of crystals there were hundreds of mirrors scattered about the air.

  She tumbled past a window showing golden and green dragons in waistcoats serving tea to knights who couldn't lift their cups through their visors. Another revealed a city of brass and clockwork during sunrise, where citizens lined up to wind each other's keys.

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  She reached toward a forest where oak trees uprooted themselves for afternoon strolls while deer and rabbits planted themselves in neat rows, antlers and ears sprouting leaves. Her fingers passed through the barrier like pushing through cold honey that wouldn't yield.

  More windows flashed by. A world where the sky was made of water and fish swam through clouds. A desert of glass where sand dunes rang like bells when the wind touched them. A library where books read themselves to anyone who would, and wouldn't, listen, their pages turning with contented sighs.

  Each realm blazed with its own logic, its own beauty, its own particular madness. And Reyn could touch none of them. She was a ghost falling through a museum of realities, able to observe but never enter.

  The practical part of her mind, the part that was pure Bormecian even while plummeting through cosmic impossibility, noted that this was unfair. If you were going to fall through dimensions, you should at least be able to stop for tea with the dragons.

  Apparently, that was out of the question either way, as an orange glow grew somewhere below her.