They don’t understand, when they give it to you, that they bleed out all the joy. That stars become specks of sand and flowers fade to paper cuts. Magic should never be homework, then it wouldn’t be magic. Homework de-magics things, you see, even if you write it with quill and yellow parchment, it comes out all inkblots. I need to know about ships, and about conjurers and manticores, but I just want to play outside and read my books and sing. Forgetting shoulds and s’posed tos. It never goes away, you know, even when you’re all grown up, they just stop checking up on you. Somehow that makes it harder.