Hilda the Wicked Witch by Paul Kater

By Paul Kater

A fairy-land witch is transported to our global as a mishap makes a spell blow up in her face and replicate. the adventure house is one jam-packed with fight, difficulties and lots of misunderstandings.

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All those colourful things. " The young woman in the mirror seemed to sing as she picked flowers. "I'll have you gasp for air, once I get that apple to you," the angry woman said as she turned away from the mirror. Her long grey hair floated over her dark red robe, her black dress rustled as she walked over to a table. She took up a small silver stick and an apple. With the stick pointing to the apple, under her breath she mumbled a few phrases. "And I hope I got it right this time," she ended her short monologue.

He could do nothing at all, except watch, listen, be angry, hurt and float. Then the witch sat down at the table, drank some more of the wine and looked at the ruffians again. "What am I going to do with you," she asked them. " Her finger traced rounds over the rim of the glass. "It looks like I was mistaken, though. Patrick O'Malley was glad he had not fainted. From his stool, gagged and bound, he saw how the small woman toyed with the motorcycle gang as if they were mice. What a story he would have to tell.

Hilda held up her wand. The saleslady stepped back. " "Threaten? I do not need crude means like that. I am telling you, that suffices in general," said Hilda. " This threw the saleslady so much that she did not attempt to stop Hilda as the witch breezed past her. The saleslady had no idea how lucky she was. As Hilda walked through the Swarovsky store, she tucked the ball in her shoulderbag and made the wand disappear again. Her hurry attracted some attention, but a spell handled that. The stone man still guarded her broom.

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