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No.
Granny looked down at herself.
'This one,' she said.
And stories just want happy endings. They don't give a damn who they're for.
Dear Jason eksetra,
Well so much for Genua but I leanred about Mrs Gogol's zombie medicin and she gave me the Hityi Hidtfrt/[?] told me how to make banananana dakry and gave me a thing call a banjo youll be amazed and all in all is a decent soul I reckon if you keeps her where you can see her. It looks like we got
Esme back but I don't know shes actin funny and quiet not like herself normally so Im keepin an Eye on her just in case Lily puled a farst one in the mirror. But I think shes geting better because when she woke up she arsked Magratfor a look at the wand and then she kind of twidled and twisted them rings on it and turned the po into a bunch of flowers and Magrat said she could never make the wand do that and Esme said no because, she wasted time wishing for thinges instead of working out how to make them happen. What I say is, what a good job Esme never got a wand when she was young, Lily would have bin a Picnic by comparisen. Enclosed is a picture of the cemtry here you can see folks are buried in boxes above ground the soil being so wet because you dont want to be dead and drownded at the same time, they say travelin brordens the mind, I reckon I could pull mine out my ears now and knot it under my chin, all the best, MUM.
In the swamp Mrs Gogol the voodoo witch draped the tail coat over its crude stand, stuck the hat on the top of the pole and fastened the cane to one end of the crosspiece with a bit of twine.
She stood back.
There was a fluttering of wings. Legba dropped out of the sky and perched on the hat. Then he crowed. Usually he only crowed at nightfall, because he was a bird of power, but for once he was inclined to acknowledge the new day.
It was said afterwards that, every year on Samedi Nuit Moit, when the carnival was at its height and the drums were loudest and the rum was nearly all gone, a man in a tail coat and a top hat and with the energy of a demon would appear out of nowhere and lead the dance.
was no sound but the rustle of her dress and the soft hiss of her own breathing. She glided into the place between the mirrors.
Her myriad selves looked back at her approvingly. She relaxed.
Then her foot struck something. She looked down and saw on the flagstones, black in the moonlight, a broomstick lying in shards of broken glass.
Her horrified gaze rose to meet a reflection.
It glared back at her.
'Where's the pleasure in bein' the winner if the loser ain't alive to know they've lost?'
Lilith backed away, her mouth opening and shutting.
Granny Weatherwax stepped through the empty frame. Lily looked down, beyond her avenging sister.
'You broke my mirror!'
'Was this what it was all for, then?' said Granny.' Playin' little queens in some damp city? Serving stories? What sort of power is that?'
'You don't understand . . . you've broken the mirror . . .'
'They say you shouldn't do it,' said Granny. 'But I reckoned: what's another seven years' bad luck?'
Image after image shatters, all the way around the great curve of the mirror world, the crack flying out faster than light. . .
'You have to break both to be safe. . . you've upset the balance . . .'
'Hah! I did?' Granny stepped forward, her eyes two sapphires of bitterness. 'I'm goin' to give you the hidin' our Mam never gave you, Lily Weatherwax. Not with magic, not with headology, not with a stick like our Dad had, aye, and used a fair bit as I recall - but with skin. And not because you was the bad one. Not because you meddled with stories. Everyone has a path they got to tread. But because, and I wants you to understand this prop'ly, after you went I had to be the good one. You had all the fun. An' there's no way I can make you pay for that, Lily, but I'm surely goin' to give it a try . . .'
'But... I... I... I'm the good one,' Lily murmured, her face pale with shock. 'I'm the good one. I can't lose. I'm the godmother. You're the wicked witch . . . and you've broken the mirror . . .'
. . . moving like a comet, the crack in the mirrors reaches its furthest point and curves back, speeding down the countless worlds . . .
'You've got to help me put . . . the images must be balanced . . .' Lily murmured faintly, backing up against the remaining glass.
'Good? Good? Feeding people to stories? Twisting people's lives? That's good, is it?' said Granny. 'You mean you didn't even have fun? If I'd been as bad as you, I've have been a whole lot worse. Better at it than you've ever dreamed of.'
