Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx.
(Almost whispering) “In reality, in real actual life, that kind of magic doesn’t belong to one group and the object doesn’t have to look like them at all.
It doesn't even have to look like a person. As long as you wish, dream and know hard enough, it can be anything. A stick, a leaf, a piece of fruit, a candle. My Grandmother used to do with an egg.
She would write the name of the person onto the surface of a hen’s egg and then...picking up a rock she would smash! Smash! Smash! the top, so that it fractured and dented, yolk spilling and oozing out everywhere!
(Quietly) The next day you would hear that the named person had experienced a very nasty accident. That they'd been hit by a car or fallen from some great height and that their skull had somehow been smashed or split open, blood spilling slowly out...like yolk.”
