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“Ecce picturo,” says Arrete, flicking her bored wand at the window. The view changes to a rainforest, a desert, the Pentagon, Mars.

“I don’t know why you can’t use real Latin,” grumbles Verona.

“It wouldn’t work,” says Arrete. “Obvs.”

Verona deliberately gives her a slow, bovine blink.

“Words are just the focus. Pseudolatin has connotations of privilege and archaic mystery to most English-speakers. It puts your brain in the right place for magic.”

“It could just as easily be Pseudoswahili?”

“Not to me.”

“But magic’s more than the sum of your cultural baggage!”

Arrete gives her a slow, bovine blink.