Alright, so I think what we’ve learned over the past couple of months is that magic in this realm just doesn’t work as well as it does back where I’m from. I tried to abide by the code, I really did, but three whole days of taking my shoes on and off without magic drove me insane.
I tried a very simple bit of necromancy to bring forth a dark servant to wash the dishes and take the bins out every Wednesday night. But instead of becoming my loyal servant, that skeleton burst out of the ground, giggling as he danced an unearthly jig into the night. I don’t know what he’s up to now… quite a spooky thing, a walking skeleton in this world.
Now I see a television program about people who do glass installation. Melbourne humans, installing glass balustrades? I am left with many, many questions. How do these people fit into this small, electric box? How do they change the sets so quickly? What IS balustrading? That one was answered pretty quickly when several images flashed up of the actual thing. It was like looking into Madame Scrilleksikon’s Scrying Pond, except this one shows you what you WANT to see, instead of horrible futures where you die embarrassing deaths.
Balustrades looked so lovely – so elegant – that I had to have them in my tiny unit, even though I had no second floor and thus the stairs would lead to nowhere. So, I drew a mystic circle and chanted the ancient words of home renovation. Then I had to hastily evacuate the unit as the second floor appeared about fifty feet in the air, and it came crashing down to crush my home. Not as planned, but after a bit of fixing up, I was undeterred. I drew a different circle, one that would take my mind’s eye and place it in reality.
Yeah, so, my home became a balustrade. Not a home with a balustrade; just a gigantic stairway leading to nowhere, lined with glass. My glass balustrade dreams are in ruins, so… great. I guess I should probably redirect my efforts to making sure my reanimated friend isn’t off causing spooky mischief.