It has been told how when the gods were young, they created the Universe, and the Multiverse, and Man, and how they amused themselves with their creation.
Man came and passed, and his existence was as the briefest, tiniest spark of light in the vastness of his Multiverse, which was but a single grain of sand amongst the things that the gods would create, each vaster and more magnificent than what came before, things whose name alone would take a thousand years to say.
But at last, the gods themselves grew old.
“All that we can do, we have done,” lamented one.
“All that can be, has been,” said another.
But the god who in the beginning had studied what was, before the gods, remained silent.
And so they came to an end.
* * *
“Look, how pretty!” said the little girl. She pointed at a jewel that had grown overnight on the tree.
“Yes,” said the Gardener. “It is perfect.”
A shorter version of this story will appear, or has appeared,