The only thing that I accurately remember from this conversation is thinking, over and over again, “Chernabog. Chernabog. Chernabog.” The strings of Night on Bald Mountain surged in my ears. I saw that colossal monster as he raised his sinister wings and struck terror and love and instant devotion deep into my young heart. Chernabog. She worked on Chernabog. Of course she did.
