#annagramma

Her Third Thoughts--the ones that paid attention out of the corner of her ear and the edge of her eye all the time--told her: Something is going on. All you can do about it is be yourself. Don't look around.

The Wintersmith snatched at her hand-- --and the witch grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t you take hold of her like that! How dare you! I’m a witch, you know!” Annagramma’s voice wasn’t easy on the ear at the best of times, but when she was frightened or angry, it had a whine that bored right into the head. “Let go of her, I say,” screamed Annagramma. The Wintersmith looked stunned. Having to listen to Annagramma in a rage was hard for someone who hadn’t had ears for very long. “Let her go,” she yelled. Then she threw a fireball.

Annagramma isn’t even an anagram for anything

Tiffany: They were behind the Battle of Lancre Castle.

To be looked at by Annagramma was to know that you'd already taken up too much of her valuable time.

Annagramma had gone for him in a rage! Tiffany wished she could be that angry. She’d have to go back and thank her, too. Annagramma was going to be all right, at least. People had seen her turn into a screaming, green-skinned monster. They could respect a witch like that. Once you got respect, you’d got everything.

“It is time to talk about it, just here, just us! Because she said it’s the last thing you can do for someone. She said there’s a dark desert they have to cross, where the sand--” “Hah! Mrs. Earwig says that sort of thing is black magic,” said Annagramma, her voice as sharp and sudden as a knife. “Does she?” said Petulia dreamily as the sand poured down. “Well, Mistress Blackcap said that sometimes the moon is light and sometimes it’s in shadow, but you should always remember it’s the same moon. And... Annagramma?” “Yes?” Petulia took a deep breath. “Don’t you ever dare interrupt me again as long as you live. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare! I mean it.”