Semele’s voice sang a story about the lady puppet, who lived alone with a witchworked mirror. The mirror on the stage wasn’t actually a mirror. It was just an empty picture frame with another puppet behind it. The Lady looked inside, and the matching puppet behind the frame mirrored her movements perfectly for as long as the Lady was watching—and then waved at the audience whenever the Lady looked away.

The mirror had been witchworked to show the Lady a young and childish reflection early in the day and an ancient reflection in the evening. The Lady learned how to reach into the mirror in the mornings and yank her own reflection through the frame and onto the floor. She did this several times, morning after morning, until many child puppets bustled around the stage with her.

Rownie wondered how Semele could possibly move them all at once. She was the only one in the wagon, so she had to be the only puppeteer, but each of the several puppets moved as though directed by a living hand. It was easy to believe that they were alive themselves, even though Rownie could see that each was a thing made of cloth and wood, carved and painted.

In the story, the Lady kept all of these mirror children as slaves and servants.

“She had only herself
For her own company—
But she kept many selves of herself.

It was they did the sweeping
And all the housekeeping
And dusted the books on their shelf.

She harvested selves
In the hours of each morning
When reflections were not very old.

She commanded them all,
Her own selves while yet small,
And herselves did just what they were told:
Until the cruel Lady made coal.”

All the little puppets bustled offstage again. The Lady stood alone and put both wooden hands beneath her wooden chin. She looked harsh—mostly because of the way her sharp eyebrows were painted on. Then she shivered, her small arms wrapped around her puppet frame. The windows of her chamber grew dark and gray. Rain pattered against the back of the small stage. One of the young reflections came in with a broom, and the lady puppet loomed over her.

The next part of the show was unsettling to see. The Lady reached into the chest of her smaller self and removed something red. The little puppet fell over. There was no stage blood, or any other gruesome special effect, but Rownie still felt uncomfortable. He shifted his weight between one foot and the other. Some of the more squeamish local children squeaked.

The Lady put the heart into her fireplace, where it gave off a warm glow. She rubbed her hands together, enjoying the warmth. Then she placed a single metal gear inside the girl’s chest. The little puppet stood up again—stiff and straight—and began sweeping the edge of the stage.