Cove of Shadows ━━ Will Turner

𝐈𝐕 ━━ A Breeze of Freedom

ASTERIA WALKED THE SLEEPY STREETS, and felt freer than ever. She was in pure denial about the loss of her father. Calm, she wandered around, walking quietly without a specific goal. She notified the same boat in the distance and a plan was born in the back of her head.

Her neurons should be asleep by now. But they had been too busy to rest. Asteria was clever, and most people who crossed her path would call her intelligent.

Everyone except her.

From canals to water hyacinths, Asteria admired the island of which she was the main resident. Palm trees cradling graceful stone bridges overlooked wide streets. The vegetation was queen, the hibiscus caressing the surrounding crocodiles.

The city, hectic during the day; the hens coming out of their broken fowl crossing the streets like dressed passers-by were as asleep as the city. Asteria continued to move, deeper into stillness and solitude. The buildings had five floors, not six. The upper floors had short balconies, but the lower floors didn't – not that she hadn't had much strength to climb them anyway. The buildings were huddled together and the street seemed to go on for miles. She felt like the whole town was collapsing on top of her.

The alleys were often noisy, from what Asteria could perceive at dawn: children crying, people whispering, the screeching cries of soldiers, kicking, the chiming of the clock tower, chants, the squeaking of shop doors, the shuffling of feet, the excited laughter, the gurgling of stomachs, the clanking and the chiming of bells. There was also a shimmering lake— the divergent landscapes of the islet were numerous— at the far end of the island, the water coaxed by the sap of the reeds, whose hissing could be heard, was renowned for its benefits. This sunlit glade was said to be an invitation to the weary body, the grass thick as a carpet and softer than any bed one could sleep in.

The driveway was supposedly made of palm trees, a moving rendition of the trees growing inside the palace: tall, wide, brown, with a mess of gold on top. Trades were plentiful: league of healers, domes, arches, blacksmiths— where William worked – enchanting apprentices, and merchants in green uniforms.

The smells, after the hard days were always felt, even in the moonlight. The fishmonger's stew emanated from the still lit stall, and Asteria walked past the forge. She had never been there. Never cared about Will's real role in society. Her skinny fingers stroked the antique wooden door, a splinter failing to enter her physiological system.

Like fragrant smoke, the girl could smell a bitter metallic, forged olfactory smell, followed by spices, jasmine, and burnt wood. Leaving her contemplation, she loved the breeze caressing her hair, the aroma of honeysuckle pampering her skin.

She was not unaware of the risks of her freedom. So, she made a quick stop at a place she knew well, and then headed for the port. It was dark, even darker than Van Gogh's. The stars had never been so bright and seemed to be crying out to her, "Go, Asteria, run to freedom and sail the ocean!"

These points of light reflected in the girl's eyes like little flaming fireflies. She couldn't help smiling. A few shivers ran through her, but she enjoyed the feeling of a cool night. She liked to see the air coming out of her mouth, her body needing a warmth her brain didn't want. Those thrills and that adrenaline kept her alive. They reminded her why she wanted to exist on this earth.

There was also, o moon, the calming sound of water. Gentle waves that swayed even more vehemently than the dress of the marquises on the evening of a ball. This show was so beautiful, so perfect. The pure world. Nature. Asteria felt as alive as the grass rippling against the shore.

She was aware of having abandoned two men who cared about her, but she had this dear need to leave. To wander to discover life and her own. What meaning did it have? It could be found by going in search of it. A philosophy that Jack Sparrow shared.