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Space fairy spells are complicated and can last fractions of a fraction of a fraction of a second or millions of billions of years. Either the conjure and/or the cast. That is, to say, a spell may be nearly instantly conjured up and cast over a very, very long time, or vice versa.

To these eyes, they contain shapes, mathematics and much determined passion. Of course, there is much more.

Fairy space school, space maths and being distracted by a random fairy orb

I find space maths difficult and I’m often distracted.

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At times, during this assignment, I found my head exploding, like a really big inhalation of poppers.

The very beginning of the universe

No, not from actual amyl nitrate mixing in from my air supply, but from the sheer mind exploding facts, right here, in front of my eyes. Like fireworks, inside my eyes. Like hot and cold flushes bursting through my heart. Like everything I remember, my dogs, my children, my house and the overgrown lawn and market stall on a rainy Tuesday. Bursting into their constituent molecules, atoms, electrons and the insty bity bits that they’re made of, too, bursting into yet more insty wincy bity bits. And for those utterly tiny, utterly insignificant subatomic particles: muons, gluons, leptons to be here, every single one, now, being forged, cast, moulded, hammered, conjured into existence.

Each and every one. Of my dogs, my children, my lawn, the single raindrop on top of my market stall. Everything we see today, planets, stars, galaxies, is squashed into an even smaller size than a fraction of a fraction of a billionth of an atom. Here, in this fraction of a fraction of a billionth of a second, space fairies are hard at work bringing order to the universe.

I swallow and think, โ€œno shame in being freaked out.โ€
This is the start of the universe, my universe, after all.

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Itโ€™s time we talked about death. Happens to all of us. For some, more times than we can count.

The explosive annihilation of your witch photographer, somewhere, in deepest darkest outer space

Written into a witch photographer’s covenant are the many forms of death available. From a simple ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ฃ๐˜ฃ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜ข ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ค๐˜ฉ to the ghastly ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜ข ๐˜ต๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ญ. Oddly, ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜ง๐˜ข๐˜ช๐˜ณ๐˜บ is, as well, in the list. (I, nor anyone I have spoken to, has heard of such.)

Also listed are the ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ protocols. Which relies on how fast and how much the local recovery teams, recover. For instance, being scared to death by a ghost saying boo at a calculated inopportune moment is an easy ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ. Your corpse is easily found and complete. Getting burned, eaten and your bones spat out by a dragon is more complicated, and recovery teams definitely have issues picking through troll regurgitation for your parts.

But, out in cold, deep, outer space, the space fairy ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต is stranger. Zipping around at FTL speeds, it is impossible to handbrake turn to avoid hot blue supergiant stars, which burn, frazzle and fryโ€”without any remains for recovery. Black hole spaghettification, burst apart by supernovaeโ€”all impossible for the usual ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ recovery teams.

So, space fairies have devised re-runs, do-overs, replays. You are returned to yesterday, or fast-forwarded to tomorrow. Still with the ripping pain memory of your love potatoes being stretched to infinity. Still with the disturbing dรฉjร  vu of utter atomic annihilation. And the photographs, of course.