"Tell me what it is you want, child," the old croon commanded as she circled around the young supple body perched on the stool in the middle of her little wagon.

The hurting woman continued to gaze at her feet, "I don't know," she sighed out with tears threatening to spill down her pretty face.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, that's not true child, and we both know it. Now tell me!" She gripped the girl's chin forcing her to look at the aged face she wore.

"I- I-" the woman hesitated.

"Yes, yes," the croon breathed anxious for the words to flow from the other's mouth.

"I want him to be happy," the woman said softly with shoulders slumping.

The old croon snatched her hand away as if she had been burned. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and anger radiated from her cold fiery eyes.

"After everything he's done to you?" the croon cried. "After the lies, the humiliation and betrayal he has heaped on your shoulders? You want him to be happy? Even if it's with your own flesh and blood family?" she circled about the child once more as she thrust her brutal words.

Amika sat still, head bowed. "Yes, I want him to be happy even if I am not the one to do it."

The croon sneered at the naïve girl. "What would you have me do?"

"He hurts when he looks at me. He hurts for the hurt he has caused me. I want him to forget me so he can be truly happy."

The old croon smiled softly as she paced round and round the girl. "How selfless to be forgotten for such a petty man…" she murmured letting a hand caress Amika's smooth black hair and enjoying her shudder at her decrepit old hand fondling her locks. "Still, I can do this thing you ask of me, but there is a price."

"There is always a price," the woman responded. "What do you want?"

The old croon paused in her steps to look down on the girl trying to decide what she should take from this little one. She was silly and stupid in her blind love, but the croon had to be careful. Her pathetic act of selflessness could back fire if not molded right.

"A lock of hair," the old croon finally breathed over the child.

Amika's came up sharply, "With that you could control me!" she exclaimed. Her eye lit on a strange twisted thorny plant hanging from the old wagon, and she looked away not wanting to think of what it might be used for. The last thing she should be doing is consorting with the croon in the decaying gypsy wagon, bust she was desperate.

The old croon fingered her hair. "It's not like I'm asking for your true name, child."

"I don't know it anyway!" the woman replied sharply.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the croon admonished, "do you want me to do this or not?"

Pursed lips and a curt nod was all the answer the woman could give.

With unnaturally quick movements the croon took the hair she wanted. "Leave now, child, and what you ask will be done." With that the croon turned, and dismissed the woman. She sniffed the hair before setting to work, the door slamming not bothering her in the least.

She hummed softly as she danced a lopsided step, and did her work.

Please let me know what you think, and how you might like to see this go.