When you see her, you marvel. You see the purity of her, the honesty. And you think it is not lies that make her beautiful. It is clarity.
But what you don't see are the whiffs of smoke surrounding her, nor the mirrors set at deliberate angles. What you see is a reflection of a reflection of a reflection, and on and on. What you see is distorted by the smoke she breathes, little fires distracting you from her little motions. Can you see with eyes unclouded? Can you find the original in her land of copies? Can you find her deliberate and unintentional distortions and cast them aside to reveal her, whole and flawed? No, the answer expected and received. The girl behind the magic is just another girl. And you don't want to know the truth: that there is no magic, just smoke and mirrors.