"Emma, that kitten is stuck up in the tree—go save it."
"Emma, that old lady needs to cross the street—go help her."
"Emma, the neighbor's…"
"Emma—"
After giving Emma a stern talking-to, Gabriel quickly set her "Ultimate Good-Samaritan Training Plan" into motion. Every day, she forced Emma to perform one act of kindness after another.
At first, Emma bore it in silence. But after too many errands, she began to crack. She—Emma—was a born troublemaker, the sort of girl who couldn't sleep at night unless she'd done something wicked during the day. Gabriel forbidding her from doing anything bad was one thing, but forcing her into endless good deeds? That pushed her past her breaking point.
Yet she dared not openly defy Gabriel—the angel—with brute force or clever schemes. Her only hope was to out-wit this annoyingly virtuous visitor.
Soon enough, Emma hatched a plan. "She's an angel—she must have some mission on Earth," Emma reasoned. "And angels can't reveal their true identity. If I expose Gabriel's secret, she'll have to leave!"
Convinced of this, Emma bounded to her father Steve's side and whispered urgently, "Daddy, I've discovered a secret."
Steve looked intrigued. "What secret?"
"It's Gabriel—she's an angel."
Steve blinked, then laughed. "Ha! That's right—Gabriel is an angel. And Emma, you're my little angel too."
Disbelieving his nonchalance, Emma pressed on, "No, Daddy—I mean she's a real angel. She has wings, and a holy halo over her head. I saw it with my own eyes!"
At last Steve's face turned serious. "Is that so? I'd better go ask her myself."
Emma's heart plummeted. If he really confronted Gabriel, she'd know Emma tattled—and there'd be no mercy. She grabbed his arm in a panic. "No—no, Daddy! I was only joking. Really, it was a prank!"
Emma's first attempt to drive Gabriel away ended in total failure. Worse still, when Emma crept back into her room, she found Gabriel sitting calmly on her bed. Meeting Emma's horrified gaze, Gabriel said quietly, "I heard everything."
Emma felt like the floor had dropped out from under her.
Though Emma was a born mischief-maker at heart, she was, in essence, just a regular kid—cunning but neither especially strong nor brilliant. Her one talent was masking her true intentions under the guise of "just a child." But before Gabriel, that disguise was useless. Gabriel could see straight through her soul.
And as an angel, Gabriel wielded an authority Emma couldn't challenge. One word from Gabriel—*"She's a demon"—*and Emma's defenses would crumble. No one would question Gabriel's judgement. Thus Emma found herself utterly defeated, with no choice but to obey.
Once she accepted that, Emma's spark died. Each day she drifted about like a shell of herself, and her father even wondered if she was ill. Gabriel understood why Emma was so listless, but couldn't explain, lest Steve be terrified by the truth.
Meanwhile, Gabriel realized that sheer force of will wouldn't reform Emma—only drive her deeper into mischief. To instill lasting change, Emma would need not only to perform good deeds, but to want to do them. After pondering, Gabriel devised a new approach.
One afternoon, Gabriel visited Emma's room again. Emma lay splayed on her bed, too weary even to flinch. "Try your worst," she thought. "I'm not playing anymore."
Gabriel simply gathered a dancing orb of white light in her palm. Emma suddenly sat up. From their first meeting, Gabriel's heavenly radiance had struck Emma as a lethal weapon—this time, Emma braced for the worst.
But when Gabriel pressed the light against her chest, Emma felt nothing but warmth and comfort. "Why doesn't it hurt?" she murmured.
Gabriel smiled. "This is an angel's blessing. It soothes you, never harms. And once you've received it, your health will improve, your skin will glow, and you'll grow more beautiful. You might even live longer. It's all benefit—purely good."
Emma's eyes widened. A few extra years of life didn't matter much to her—but becoming prettier? That was tempting.
Gabriel continued, "It's a reward. You've gone days without doing anything bad, and you've done many kind deeds. As an angel, it's only natural I grant you a token of thanks. If you keep it up, I'll keep the blessings coming. The choice is yours."
Gabriel's method was classic: carrot and stick. Pure repression drove Emma toward self-destruction. But hope—and reward—just might inspire her.
True enough, Emma seemed revived. "So good deeds bring rewards?" she thought. The notion stirred something in her—almost enough to make her want to be good.
But Emma's nature rebelled immediately. She was a born delinquent: no mischief, no rest. Gabriel knew this too, so after offering spoils and hope, she added one more enticement:
"Besides good deeds, if you go after bad people, I'll reward that too. Eliminating evildoers is still a way of protecting the innocent—fighting evil is itself a virtue."
Emma's face lit up. She hated ordinary good deeds, but hurting bad people? That thrilled her—and now it paid off.
What could be more perfect?