Zanna's mind wasn't on the slow turn of decades. Such was the peril of being young - she thought in short-term, her thoughts were limited to spans of time that she could envision: the week, the summer, fall, perhaps Christmas. Finite time.
But she wasn't without discipline. She'd spent years studying her father's craft with him, applying herself diligently to the mastery of illusions and sleight of hand, to showmanship and entertainment. "I have time," she offered blithely, and maybe she did. She was thinking of summer and fall... but really, how was she to know the many years that she might have to devote to learning anything?
Whether or not she realized it - and she didn't, not really - her ability could unravel the fabric of the world and remake it. Why should time be beyond her grasp? It was probably better that she didn't know it.