Hanna’s least favorite class at High Fantasy U. was Evocation 241, “Literal Metaphors,” a sloppy crash course in phrases brought to life. Shelly loved it, naturally; even those who bend the universe to their will ten times a day have annoying college roommates.

“Why can’t you be normal?” Shelly looked cross during their lab. “Curses aren’t metaphors. They aren’t even allowed.”

Hanna coolly corrected her. “It’s a blasphemy.” Christ on a pogo stick bounced loudly, infinitely, in the aisle. “And yours is a pun.”

Shelly’s lunch mugged for an audience that wasn’t there. “Whatever, you – ” but a quiz burst and interrupted her.