❝Dead men tell no tales, lass. That's why very few pirates have cemented their names in history. The road to piracy leads to a short drop and a quick stop.❞
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The life of a commoner never sat easily with her, especially when she was su...
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"Were you not warned that your ambitions would be your undoing? In the end, you chose to follow your own greed, and look where that got you. Now, you are cursed to forever remain in the skies, unable to touch the sea without being swallowed by the waves. Ironic that the one place I am, you will never be able to return to again..." Her voice was coarse but firm, yet there was an underlying tone of pain. A pain he caused. It was because of him that she was like this now.
"This was your doing." Her bloodied hands tightened around the muscles of his forearm. "You brought this on yourself. It's too late to regret it now." With a final utterance, he felt a burning pain sear through his left arm, all throughout the muscles until it settled on a simmering pain. Not quite agonizing, but insufferable nonetheless, like that feeling of dread that lingered in the pit of your gut, never to fade away -- to always keep you on your toes and looking over your shoulder at the first sign of something amiss.
When her hand finally dropped away from his arm, it wasn't because she wanted to, but rather, due to her exhaustion. Bloodied and pale, the girl fell to the ground, but he caught her at the last moment, cradling her body to his as he felt the first few droplets of rain fall from his eyes; he knew better than to believe that it wasn't his own tears.
"I'm...sorry," The words stuck to his throat, but he wouldn't let his pride overcome this crucial moment. "So please... don't leave me."
Despite his adamant pleading, the girl never turned around to meet his gaze. The sounds of his desperate cries were drowned out by the whistling wind. It all seemed so calm, serene even. The screams and the cold lash of the storm seemed like a distant memory for a short while.
The searing pain over his heart broke the quiet reverie; he took a deep breath and his hand, still clutching the phantom burn, went alight with the warm light of the sun. It reminded him of...
The hooded man briskly cut off that train of thought with a curt shake of his head. It wouldn't heal the scars embedded in his soul, but at least the pain would lessen until he could properly finish what he started.
As if out of nowhere, the man appeared by the shore; boots deep in the plush sand, water lightly lapping at the leather. He was cloaked in a black overcoat with a dark hood concealing his face; nothing was visible save for the unnatural gleam of his eyes and the scarred hand that peaked beneath the torn remains of his gloves. He shook out the saltwater from the crown of his hood, then proceeded to fix his clothes, his rough fingers catching onto the edges of his pocket where the broken remnants of the gift lay. He wavered for a second, obscured eyes narrowing his long lashes, but before he could get too consumed by it, he shoved it further into his pocket and the feeling dissipated.
He wouldn't let the tragedies of the past cloud the potential of the future.
At the sight of the man by the shore, the fee collector idly fidgeting with his ledger lifted his head and stepped closer, confusion coloring his face as he looked around his surroundings for a clue to the ship that had harbored this stranger. But when there was none, he scratched his head in skepticism, and headed towards the cloaked man with the intention of collecting his dues.
