Beneath New York's night sky, every street lay buried under thick snow. The colored lights strung between streetlamps gradually went dark, leaving only the faint glow of shop windows to light the way for travelers returning home late at night.
Wanda sat on the edge of the building, tugging at her cape to keep it from flapping in the cold night wind. She did not look at Jarvis beside her. Instead, she stared ahead at Manhattan's still-lit skyline, at the prosperity that had not yet gone dark, and said:
"Sometimes, I have this illusion that Pietro and I never left the place where we were born and raised, that we lived ordinary, unremarkable lives there.
"Maybe I'd marry a man who worked at the post office. We'd have three children—preferably two daughters—and I'd want a dog too."
"Maybe Pietro would marry the girl he grew up with. Of course, I know he likes pretty girls, but what boy doesn't?"
"They would soon understand that after youth and beauty faded, what still made them willing to take responsibility for their family would be the most precious thing in their lives."
Wanda smiled. Jarvis turned to look at the beautiful witch. The lights of the most prosperous city in the world reflected in her eyes like a clear, cold spring beneath the ice on a snowy night.
"My husband would ride his bicycle to work every day, while I went with the other mothers in the neighborhood to help out at the town school. When I got home, I'd bring the dry blankets in from the yard, sit on the sofa, and watch my children come home from school one after another..."
Wanda turned to Jarvis and said, "Don't you think that kind of life is wonderful? Don't you think that's how