|Hildy giggled at her pumpkin head...|
The large, shadow-infused Omkrit was the huffing color of a deep summer midnight. His protectiveness contradicted his protests. Of the troika of demons at her amateurish disposal, he was her favorite. He was enslaved by all manner of sorcerers, but Hildy was unique. When the others died, he slipped away until summoned forth anew. She giggled as braids twirled, or spells twisted, “Oh dearie me, Ommie, oh! No! Look! Another one got away! She would yell whenever a beastie got the upper-hand of her mucky spells. Hildy needed him, and woe to those who would hurt her. She was safe.