Totally. Abject terror can't stop you from going through with a bad idea!

To be perfectly honest with yourself, you don't think you have enough magic to do much more experimentation, but you're fairly certain you've got one more good solid casting of your Sorcery in you. After placing Latte back onto her shoulder perch, you go to place the last object into the circle; a small paperback novel you picked up from a used bookstore back in your hometown. The cover of the book is faded, as though it had been left in the sun for several days, and you can only barely make out the title: "The Princely Bridegroom". Of course, you've already heard about it before purchasing it, seeing as it was recently adapted into a major motion picture. It's a romance story, set during the Renaissance, and based on a real historic event involving the **** of a major European princess, which was foiled by an infamous pirate. Apparently, the movie did away with all of the political intrigue to focus on the romance between the lead characters, which was a shame, because some of the coolest characters from the book were left out of the adaptation. Classic Hollywood shenanigans.

In any case, you place it in the circle, and vaguely promise yourself to finish the novel at some point. You make sure that Latte's securely in place, and place on hand on top of her to keep her from scarpering off again. You could, of course, turn her back into a coffee mug, but you kind of enjoy her company, and she didn't seem too freaked out by the magic itself; she only ran off when the hippogriff started approaching. At the very least, you could probably use her reaction to whatever creature you create to judge their intentions. Hey, it's almost like she's a real familiar, helping you with your magical experimentation!

You hold your hand out, say the magic words, and are once again rewarded with a light show. As the blue glow suffuses it, the pages of the novel flip and flutter wildly, as though caught in a sudden wind. A moment later, the form of the book begins to shift and shape, and the glow becomes even brighter. Latte, luckily, is more interested in watching the spectacle than running away, even as the amorphous form of the book stretches out and vastly bloats in size, the brightness becoming blinding once more and forcing you to close your eyes.

When you open them, of course, you're not surprised to find the book missing from the circle. You're not surprised to see, as your eyes readjust to the ambient light, a new creature lying in its place. Latte, curious at the new creature, scampers down your clothes and up to the thing, anxious to sniff it in curiosity. Also not a surprise.

What is absolutely surprising is the fact that the figure lying where the book was is quite obviously not an animal.

What lays on the concrete in front of you is a person. Humanoid, obviously, with two arms and two legs. Based on the subtle curves, you're assuming female. She's wearing a light brown sundress that leaves her freckled shoulders exposed, and the color of it matches with the aging pages that once made up the book she was created from. Her tiny body is unusually short, and you guess her to be only a few inches more than four feet tall. While you can't see her face, seeing as she's lying face down, curly tresses of bright red hair stream about her head in all directions.

But of course, the most notable thing about her is her skin. It's a vibrant green hue, specked with numerous darker green freckles. With dawning realization, you begin to feel that dread creeping back into your mind. It's obvious by the sight, especially considering the long and pointed green ears that poke out of her mass of hair, that the girl before you is a particularly dangerous creature that you've certainly heard about. And they're potentially even more dangerous than the hippogriff would be.

You've turned a classic novel into a goblin. Latte, oblivious to your horror, buries herself in the goblin's unruly hair, only to run back out of it as the goblin gives a small groan.

Your new goblin is starting to wake up.