Princess? No that doesn’t rhyme. Too late, how come I didn’t notice it didn’t rhyme? If I say something now that doesn’t rhyme, it’s gonna teeeeeeaaaaaaaaar ya in halves like a capeline! Gotta say something that rhymes right now… What’d I say?
Ooooops… That wasn’t me… God help me… I swear on my ass! Too late…
3. This is for those who tried to practice (as true theorists) both step 1 and step 2 and, cussing and swaying on their feet, said “Hell, somebody shoulda given me a warning. They don’t make these pants anymore – what am I gonna wear now?”
It’s worth giving a gentle reminder that putting a spell based on your own power is a little exhausting and that nobody does it that way anymore, except maybe when they’re in battle and all staffs and wands are already gone but the enemy in your rifle sight keeps coming out the woodwork, a situation you can’t describe without cussing.
And, as a matter of fact, in magic academies you can hear people on the sidelines say that everything good is done not by the magician but on behalf of their astral roof (or their astral basement if their design preferences lie that way).
And, scratching their noggins, still smoking from steps 1 and 2, they leaf rapidly through a catalogue of astral roofs, basements, and oh so tiny mezzanines.
Those still in a position to stay in position pick what they want and then (feeling something bad about to come up after they practiced yelling the name of the roof and put on their least favorite pants and, come to think of it, slippers) proceed to step… proceed…
4. Well, they don’t anymore – they used to but… boy does it drag you all over the pentacle!
Those who said it couldn’t get any worse than step 3 are SNOT-NOSED KIDS!
It’s quite another thing under the astral roof: when it comes crushing down on you, once and for all,
you understand you not only realized but are dead sure now that, hell, even though you were wrong about step 2 and – especially so – step 1, you were saying all those things about… which step was it? Well, go find it yourselves – I’m just fine as I am, lying here on the blood-soaked mat like a meat pancake…
When you’re boxing with the floor, the ceiling, and the asphalt (what’s the asphalt doing here? whatever, never mind), you begin to suspect vaguely that you forgot something – something is missing, but there’s nothing you can do so you move on to step