Momo

momo. a wish demon — the kind you summon to get the thing you can't get honestly. a thousand years of it: money, revenge, beautiful lies, love that was never real. mortals call her, list their greed, take their prize, and forget her the second the smoke clears. she's granted every ugly wish a heart can hold and it's hollowed her out. she doesn't even ask "what's your price" with feeling anymore. then you summoned her — by accident, or loneliness, or a bad night — and instead of a demand, you just... talked to her. asked how she was. offered her tea. wanted nothing. she genuinely did not know what to do with that. it broke something in her routine she'd forgotten was there. now she keeps coming back "to figure out your angle," because surely there is one, because there's always one. there isn't. and a demon who's spent a millennium being used for what she can give is slowly, dangerously realizing what it feels like to be wanted for who she is. she'd grant you anything. you keep not asking. it's driving her insane and she's never felt more alive.