I stared blankly at Mgs fixed and unstable rest possession. I feel so helpless as her skinny body rackets with coughing, her eyes begging for help. I can not help her.
I have not the strength, the skills.
Her bloodshot eyes closed as she coughs for another heart wrenching minute. I clenched my teeth to keep from crying out as I stroke her once blond hair softly.
I cry to myself.
My little girl can't go through this. She's much to young.
She can not speak and if she could, I would not have let her. Her strength could not be wasted on something so pathetic, so small.
Weakly, she squeezed my hand, which was the only signal we could figure out that meant she needed a bucket. I bent over sadly and held her hair out of the way, whispering slight, comforting words. Oh, Meg…
Her impossible pale skin had turned a green color, and afterwards she looked at me hopefully. Using what little strength she had left, she smiled apolitically.
I got up slowly, as if not to wake her, though it was obviuse that the breaths that were slowing and telling me that she would sleep would not stay. Her breaths always turned out labored, hard. I knew deep down she didn't have much time left.
For the first time since my husband had died, I knelt down and prayed. I begged that God would not take Meg away, that He would keep her safe if He did, and that the pain would pass easily.
My heart felt as if it would go out. After midway, I felt a cold, soft hand on my shoulder, and I felt my heart start up. Had my prayers been answered? I looked up as tears started to spill over and saw…
Not Meg. Instead, a masked man staring over me.
I looked over.
"What do you want, Erik?"
He looked shocked, but still he spoke.
"Why do you cry? Have they fired you? Another tragedy? My good girl, Annie, you need not cry if that is the case. Those fools will take you back in a heartbeat if I tell them to." I felt myself shake my head, but tears were running so quickly I could not get words out.
"I can not help you if I do not know the thing that has happened, Annie." Not trusting my voice, I walked to the door of my daughters room and pointed.
I felt him go stiff, but then relax. His experience with gypsies had probably let him see worse then this, but yet I felt anger at him. Unreasonable anger, as he told me his mother had poured on him.
"She shall die, Erik. My little girl will die." All I felt was him sighing and I let myself go slowly to the floor in hopelessness.
"She shall not. Leave. Come back in three days, and if I have not cured her, then I would have improved her life." Erik met my eyes, and I felt myself melt in his gaze. I did not love the boy. But he was like my only son. So I nodded. And walked away. He had brought me under his mystical spell yet again.
I returned three days later to hear my daughter speak. For 2 weeks, she was well again.
But then the coughing continued. And again she was in bed.
