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Description
It's still magic even if you know how it's done.
This was one of the most important sentences that Terry Pratchett ever wrote, at least in her opinion. It had followed her through life and turned rainbows, science and music back into what they actually were – magic. Still, and that was the sad thing about it, she only believed in those little magical things, every day happenings and human inventions. Like everybody else she knew that wizards and dragons and unicorns did not exist – except for reptiles and rhinos and people playing funny tricks. Knowing that, she had lived two lives: a real one with magic she understood, and another one in a dream world with unicorns and dragons and real magic.
Now she was old; she felt her body caving in around her, decaying as she walked and talked and tried to bring everything to a happy ending before it was too late. She wasn't upset about this, instead she was thankful for the time she'd had, for the things she had learned, for pain, sorrow and absolute happiness. Her life had been the best life possible, she knew that, and there was nothing missing, no thing not done, no attraction not seen. At least that was what she thought.

She firmly believed that when everything was said and done, she would be able to go to sleep and never wake up again. But now it had already been two weeks since she had cut the last cord and she was still here. She had made lists and ticked everything off, searching for something she could have missed, some reason why she was still alive, in this fragile body. It was exasperating and robbed her of her sleep.
Tonight she stood at her bedroom window and marvelled at the beauty of her garden by moonlight; roses in well-kept flower beds seemed to sparkle before the background of a dark spruce wood. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes. In her mind, she once again went through her list of unfinished things, but couldn't find anything that was left. She sighed.
Then, through her closed eyelids, she noticed another light, brighter than the moon on her roses. It was a steady shine, not like burglars with torches or anything else that could be frightening for an old lady. She opened her eyes to see the unicorn trampling down her wonderful flower beds. It was looking at her with bright golden eyes.
'Oh, not again,' she thought. For a whole week she had had this hallucination, and the bad thing about it wasn't that it made her feel like a crazy old bat, but that her flower beds really were trampled down next morning and she was forced to spend the whole day repairing the damage. Tonight she decided to do something about it.
Wrapping herself up in her nightgown she left the bedroom and carefully walked down the dark stairs, through the living room and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there, glowing in the dark and waiting for her.
'All right,' she thought, 'I'll try to touch it, see that I can't and go up to bed.'
With a resolute stride she approached the beast and stretched out her arm to touch it – and touch it she did. The unicorn pressed its muzzle against her palm and snorted softly; she could feel its warm breath on her face.
"Oh," she whispered and, suddenly weak, sank to her knees. "Are you real?"
The unicorn looked down at her with eyes far more intelligent than should be possible for any creature; then it bent its knees and lay down beside her.
She watched it, her mind numb with disbelief and at the same time trying to prove that this was only a trick. The body could be that of a horse all right, even if it was a bit smaller and more fragile than she was used to. The fur was of a much brighter white than usual, too, and the light was a real problem; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make out any hidden lamps. She didn't dare touch the golden horn on the creature's forehead, but closer inspection showed no signs of glue used; it seemed to be anchored beneath the skin.
A sudden shiver of her body tore her from her inspections. The night was too cold to be spent outside in nothing more than a nightgown, especially for an old lady like her, but her mind was still busy processing the presence of a unicorn in her garden and she couldn't get herself to move. Then she noticed the way the unicorn was looking at her, like an invitation it expected of her to accept.
After a moment's hesitation, and knowing that this could only be a dream, she moved closer to the beast and leaned her cold body against it. Its warm flanks made her feel cosy and tired, set her mind at rest and, for a moment, it didn't matter whether or not this was real. The night was silent; all she could hear was her own heartbeat, saying: "It's true. It's real. It's true." After a short while, she fell asleep.

Her neighbours found her next morning, lying dead between her trampled roses. Her peaceful expression troubled them, as they believed that she must have perished by cold, but old people always lost their minds at some point and did things the younger could not understand. The neighbours accepted that, but they looked down at her with scorn because she had destroyed her well-kept garden before her death.

Description
It's still magic even if you know how it's done.
This was one of the most important sentences that Terry Pratchett ever wrote, at least in her opinion. It had followed her through life and turned rainbows, science and music back into what they actually were – magic. Still, and that was the sad thing about it, she only believed in those little magical things, every day happenings and human inventions. Like everybody else she knew that wizards and dragons and unicorns did not exist – except for reptiles and rhinos and people playing funny tricks. Knowing that, she had lived two lives: a real one with magic she understood, and another one in a dream world with unicorns and dragons and real magic.
Now she was old; she felt her body caving in around her, decaying as she walked and talked and tried to bring everything to a happy ending before it was too late. She wasn't upset about this, instead she was thankful for the time she'd had, for the things she had learned, for pain, sorrow and absolute happiness. Her life had been the best life possible, she knew that, and there was nothing missing, no thing not done, no attraction not seen. At least that was what she thought.

She firmly believed that when everything was said and done, she would be able to go to sleep and never wake up again. But now it had already been two weeks since she had cut the last cord and she was still here. She had made lists and ticked everything off, searching for something she could have missed, some reason why she was still alive, in this fragile body. It was exasperating and robbed her of her sleep.
Tonight she stood at her bedroom window and marvelled at the beauty of her garden by moonlight; roses in well-kept flower beds seemed to sparkle before the background of a dark spruce wood. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes. In her mind, she once again went through her list of unfinished things, but couldn't find anything that was left. She sighed.
Then, through her closed eyelids, she noticed another light, brighter than the moon on her roses. It was a steady shine, not like burglars with torches or anything else that could be frightening for an old lady. She opened her eyes to see the unicorn trampling down her wonderful flower beds. It was looking at her with bright golden eyes.
'Oh, not again,' she thought. For a whole week she had had this hallucination, and the bad thing about it wasn't that it made her feel like a crazy old bat, but that her flower beds really were trampled down next morning and she was forced to spend the whole day repairing the damage. Tonight she decided to do something about it.
Wrapping herself up in her nightgown she left the bedroom and carefully walked down the dark stairs, through the living room and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there, glowing in the dark and waiting for her.
'All right,' she thought, 'I'll try to touch it, see that I can't and go up to bed.'
With a resolute stride she approached the beast and stretched out her arm to touch it – and touch it she did. The unicorn pressed its muzzle against her palm and snorted softly; she could feel its warm breath on her face.
"Oh," she whispered and, suddenly weak, sank to her knees. "Are you real?"
The unicorn looked down at her with eyes far more intelligent than should be possible for any creature; then it bent its knees and lay down beside her.
She watched it, her mind numb with disbelief and at the same time trying to prove that this was only a trick. The body could be that of a horse all right, even if it was a bit smaller and more fragile than she was used to. The fur was of a much brighter white than usual, too, and the light was a real problem; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make out any hidden lamps. She didn't dare touch the golden horn on the creature's forehead, but closer inspection showed no signs of glue used; it seemed to be anchored beneath the skin.
A sudden shiver of her body tore her from her inspections. The night was too cold to be spent outside in nothing more than a nightgown, especially for an old lady like her, but her mind was still busy processing the presence of a unicorn in her garden and she couldn't get herself to move. Then she noticed the way the unicorn was looking at her, like an invitation it expected of her to accept.
After a moment's hesitation, and knowing that this could only be a dream, she moved closer to the beast and leaned her cold body against it. Its warm flanks made her feel cosy and tired, set her mind at rest and, for a moment, it didn't matter whether or not this was real. The night was silent; all she could hear was her own heartbeat, saying: "It's true. It's real. It's true." After a short while, she fell asleep.

Her neighbours found her next morning, lying dead between her trampled roses. Her peaceful expression troubled them, as they believed that she must have perished by cold, but old people always lost their minds at some point and did things the younger could not understand. The neighbours accepted that, but they looked down at her with scorn because she had destroyed her well-kept garden before her death.