John William Waterhouse Flora and the Zephyrs

John William Waterhouse Flora and the ZephyrsJohn William Waterhouse Apollo and DaphneVincent van Gogh On the Outskirts of Paris
Diamanda,” she said, meekly.
“This is the Moon,” Diamanda repeated, “for those who weren’t paying attention.” She held up the card. “And what do we see here—you, Muscara?”
“Um . . . it’s got a picture of the moon on it?” said Muscara (nee Susan) in a hopeful voice.
“Of course it’s not the moon. It’s a nonmimetic conven-tion, not tied to a conventional referencing system, actually,” On the other hand, the coven was helping people . . . more or less. Raising power and all that sort of thing. Oh dear, supposing she asks me?
Perdita realized that she was feeling worried. Something was wrong. It had just gone wrong. She didn’t know what it was, but it had gone wrong now. She looked up.
“Blessings be upon this house,” said Granny Weatherwax.said Diamanda.“Ah.”A gust rocked the cottage. The door burst open and slammed back against the wall, giving a glimpse of cloud-wracked sky in which a non-mimetic convention was show-ing a crescent.Diamanda waved a hand. There was a brief flash of octarine light. The door jerked shut. Diamanda smiled in what Perdita thought of as her cool, knowing way.She placed the card on the black velvet cloth in front of her.Perdita looked at it gloomily It was all very pretty, the cards were colored like little pasteboard jewels, and they had interesting names. But that little traitor voice whis-pered: how the hell can they know what the future holds? Cardboard isn’t very bright.