Changing her parents, giving them an immortal life, may have made her happy. Her pain stifles me, in a richly unsettling way. If saving this boy will be at least one smile to cross her face in the knowledge that she did not lose him, it is worth its weight in fine gold. I want to be the one to take her pain away. I cannot turn them. Guilt or no, it would be an army to advise and watch over. It would not be right, I remind myself. I have watched countless humans die, and contemplated about how they are moving forward, leaving this existence. I shake my head at my stray thoughts. There it is again, need and want. They are trifling with me. There is no need to change these men. It is their fate. I am not the Almighty, or the Maker. I am here, cast into eternal life on earth. At my cabin, I lay the boy on the bed. He has quieted during our trek across the ship. I reopen my wrist and give him more of my blood. The change is already starting; his skin darkened by the sun is lightening. My wound closes, and I sit in the only chair in the room. I spot my cross and pick it up. I hold it in my hand, remembering the beautiful face of my mother. Her mahogany hair hung down her back thick and straight when home and ready to retire to her chamber.
