❝ she loved him,
but she kept pretending
she didn't because
she knew he didn't
love her the same ❞
In which the Snake of Ketterdam slithers out from the cracks of the Barrel to raise her head and break some bones.
【 Kaz Brekker x OC】
【 Grishaver...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
∘☽༓☾∘
𝕾tasiaj could not remember much of her early childhood. She couldn't remember the touch of a mother, the love of a father or whether or not she even had siblings. As far as she knew, she had been on her own since birth.
Her earliest memory, however, was that of a ship. She must have been no older than four, maybe five at a push, and she could not for the life of her remember how she had come to be on that ship, only that she was.
It had been wooden and rotting, spray flying in through little cracks in the hull, covering her from head to toe in salt water, that brittled her clothes and hair until she could have sworn that they crunched whenever she moved, chafing at her skin.
She was kept below deck, for some strange reason, and that was where she had stayed for the majority of her trip. A singular guard would bring her down food and water. That was how she learnt her name. He had called her Stasiaj and she repeated that to herself day and night. If she lost her name, she feared she would lose herself.
Stasiaj had been on that ship for days, maybe even weeks, when the storm struck. She had been on the ship in storms before and they had not frightened her, but this one was different. This one felt dangerous.
It seemed like the gods were reaching into the ocean, forming waves the size of buildings and tearing their ship apart piece by piece. The mast went first. Stasiaj could remember the loud crack as it hit the deck above her, trapping her in the hull of the ship. She had never felt as much fear as when she watched the others above deck climb into a lifeboat and sail away without her.
The hull cracked next, water spraying in, as Stasiaj had clawed at the trap door, tearing her nails off and almost breaking her fingers as she tried to pry it open. But there was no such luck for her, for it did not open.
Maybe the gods took pity on her that night, or her death was simply not then, for the next wave broke through the side of the ship and Stasiaj was able to clamber out of the hull, that was going further and further beneath the waves.
The mast was still floating, and Stasiaj had clung onto it, for dear life. It was tossed and turned, splinters digging into her hand as the ship sunk further beneath the waves, causing a small whirlpool that threatened to drag her under with it.
The girl had thought she had got away, almost crying with relief when something tightened around her legs and the mast had slipped from her grip, leaving the girl to be yanked under the water.
