This isn't magic run wild, tingling with the scent of a land and a lion; this is magic governed by rules, and a stick in your hands, and words hard and crisp in your mouth. The same classes year after year, turning mice into snuffboxes and birds into goblets, dreaming their innocent and foolish child-dreams.

After the shock of having everything she held dear yanked away from her in an instant, a shock that reverberates through her nightmares still, the logic of it all appeals to her.