Another snip, a flurry of folded paper spins downward. You handle the snowflake delicately, barely cradling it from the clutching breeze. Another snip. The walls are atom-thick. Not much left to take. A spider’s web of atomic nuclei bound together by dancing electrons. You carefully reach into the drawer beneath the desk, to pick out the smallest set of scissors, and toss the last pair onto the pile. One more snip. Boom. Oops.