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She drew back her hand.
. . . the crack returned towards its point of origin, carrying with it the fleeing reflections of all the mirrors . . .
Her eyes widened.
The glass smashed and crazed behind Lily Weatherwax.
And in the mirror, the image of Lily Weatherwax turned around, smiled beatifically, and reached out of the frame to take Lily Weatherwax into its arms.
'Lily!'
All the mirrors shattered, exploding outwards in a thousand pieces from the top of the tower so that, just for a moment, it was wreathed in twinkling fairy dust.
Nanny Ogg and Magrat came up onto the roof like avenging angels after a period of lax celestial quality control.
They stopped.
Where the maze of mirrors had been were empty frames. Glass shards covered the floor and, lying on them, was a figure in a white dress.
Nanny pushed Magrat behind her and crunched forward cautiously. She prodded the figure with the toe of her boot.
'Let's throw her off the tower,' said Magrat.
'All right,' said Nanny. 'Do it, then.'
Magrat hesitated. 'Well,' she said, 'when I said let's throw her off the tower, I didn't mean me personally throwing her off, I meant that if there was any justice she ought to be thrown off- '
'Then I shouldn't say any more on that score, if I was you,' said Nanny, kneeling carefully on the crunching shards. 'Besides, I was right. This is Esme. I'd know that face anywhere. Take off your petticoat.'
'Why?'
'Look at her arms, girl!'
Magrat stared. Then she raised her hands to her mouth.
'What has she been doing?'
'Trying to reach straight through glass, by the looks of it,' said Nanny. 'Now get it off and help me tear it into strips and then go and find Mrs Gogol and see if she's got any ointments and can help us, and tell her if she can't she'd better be a long way away by morning.' Nanny felt Granny Weatherwax's wrist. 'Maybe Lily Weatherwax could make jam of us but I'm damn sure I could knock Mrs Gogol's eye out with the fender if it came to it.'
Nanny removed her patent indestructible hat and fished around inside the point. She pulled out a velvet cloth and unwrapped it, revealing a little cache of needles and a spool of thread.
She licked a thread and held a needle against the moon, squinting.
'Oh, Esme, Esme,' she said, as she bent to her sewing, 'you do take winning hard.'
Lily Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered, silvery world.
'Where am I?'
INSIDE THE MIRROR.
'Am I dead?'
THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, is SOMEWHERE
BETWEEN NO AND YES.
Lily turned, and a billion figures turned with her. 'When can I get out?' WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT'S REAL. Lily Weatherwax ran on through the endless reflections.
