Greg would survive too but not if he stayed with her.

The ability to control her darker emotions had improved over the years, but there was no guarantee. If he knew her secret, he might not have labeled her a princess. She’d be closer to Darth Vader, the young version who tried to stay on the good side but his rage drew him away.

Of anyone, Greg the great dreamer, sweet Star Wars nut, had the best chance of being the one who understood. But Nem didn’t dare take that path, which could fork at any moment into unknown, dangerous and terrifying destinations.

Marriage and children were a no-no because she’d learned the world didn’t work the way everyone imagined. Her child could inherit the duty of the diary, as she sometimes called this, and that wasn’t fair. After many years, she still worked hard at managing her feelings, guilt and sadness, surrounding the things she’d done.

In quiet moments, she wondered if she should do more. There’d been no rules given to her. She’d made everything up. She stumbled, even fell, losing her way in the enormity of the power she’d inherited through her mother’s death.

In Greg’s case, she’d run scenarios of if she said this and he said that, maybe this might work. Then she’d fast forward her future-life story to their imaginary child and Nem making the wrong choice, as did her mom. The story switched to the likeliest outcome: Nem standing beside a grave or attending a funeral, crying in the front row and hoping nobody put two and two together as to why those closest to her seemed to encounter such bad luck. Coincidences only explained misfortune for so long.

Greg still stared up at her, the big sap. More than ever, she wished she’d stuck to her three-date rule. Too late now. Shoot her for being human. Her curse, as she sometimes called it on bad days, or duty on good, had brought her to a crossroads.

Alan West’s death was the good. Dr. Shepherd, another. The strange scrawling writing she’d grown accustomed to reading, delivered his name. After reading what he’d done and could continue to do, she was glad to send him his just deserts. She had meant to stop him, not kill him though. Killing hadn’t entered her head. Righting the wrong was a better description. But those were early days.

What gave her the mandate to decide another’s fate? Or hand over judgment with little proof except words on a page? This confused her at first. She was too young for that power but she grew into it, taking less and less delight in looking into their eyes and seeing the fear.

A weapon to right wrongs, that’s me.

As time went by, she understood there were consequences to her actions. Everything wasn’t black and white as seen through a child’s viewpoint. Worse, she didn’t always have control. When you’ve never learned how to drive, there’s a great chance you’ll make a mistake, cause an accident.