Whenever I confiscate something from my kids, with the intention of never giving it back, I like to add that it’s been sent to the “realm of wind and smoke.”
As of today none of them have ever asked what that is or means. I guess it must be universally accepted that places with mystical sounding names are in accessible to mortals.
I think of it as a placecof high, windy peaks, streams of clouds whip by, and verdant green pasture nestles into the feet of the mountains. Piled all over the peaks, on crags, are banished toys, they totter and wobble in an anticipation of a swift fall.
Well that’s my fantasy anyway.