[Here's how I found out about magic: I literally fell into a hideout that a distant ancestor of mine magicked up to only admit his descendants. In this hidey-hole was one hexagon, and a book. The hexagon made me a mint; the book explained what the hell was going on. The book says stars are dangerous. I have stars, I can get more stars if I want them - and I don't dare make a wish on them because I don't know why they are dangerous, or how, let alone how to get around it. Maybe they think that if you stare at a star long enough, you'll know how to operate one. Jeez. Maybe they know how to work stars - but they don't have a pet masochist like I have. And haven't used their pentagons to make one, so if I'm smart I will not piss them off overmuch because that they could likely do any time it occurred to them, and it may if they're desperate.]