The journey to Serapha was a nightmare etched into Sineka's bones, a harrowing ordeal that tested the limits of her endurance. Days bled into nights with no sense of time, only the relentless rocking of the ship and the bitter taste of salt air that seeped through the cracks of her confinement. Her world had shrunk to the four wooden walls of a cramped cabin, stripped of all dignity and warmth. The air smelled of damp timber and stale bread, the faint creak of the ship's hull her only companion through the endless hours.
Twice a day, a crew member would deliver her meals—thin, watery gruel and a scrap of bread barely enough to stave off hunger. Yet she found herself begging, pride long since abandoned beneath the weight of her weakening body.
"Please," she rasped one evening, gripping the edge of the door as it opened. The faint lantern light from the corridor illuminated her pale face, sunken from days of inadequate nourishment. "I need more food. I'm starving."
The man who stood beyond the threshold was broad-shouldered and rough-faced, with a grin that did not reach his eyes. His salt-crusted tunic clung to his sweat-slick skin, the scent of rum clinging to his breath as he leaned closer.
"A wee lass like you doesn't need more than that," he sneered, his eyes flicking over her with a glance that made her stomach twist. "You'll get too big to marry a man if you eat too much. Be grateful we're feedin' you at all."
The door slammed shut before she could muster another plea, leaving her staring at the rough wood with trembling hands. The air in the cabin felt suffocating, thick with despair and the faint echo of laughter from above deck. Somewhere beyond the walls, the sea whispered against the hull—always just out of reach.
Sineka sank onto the narrow cot, drawing her knees to her chest as a tremor ran through her limbs. Hunger gnawed at her insides with a relentless ache, her body hollowed by days of deprivation. Yet worse than the hunger was the helplessness—the knowledge that her father had delivered her into this cage without a second glance.
"You're no longer my responsibility. If someone thinks they can have you, that's on you."
His parting words echoed in her mind with cruel clarity, each syllable another crack against her fragile resolve. The fire that had burned within her upon leaving Frostheaven had begun to dim beneath the weight of her captivity, hope unraveling thread by thread with each passing day.
"This can't be happening," she whispered to herself, the words a fragile tether against the darkness threatening to consume her. Her reflection in the small, tarnished mirror mounted on the cabin wall was a stranger's face—cheeks hollowed, freckles stark against pale skin, cinnamon hair tangled from days without proper care. Even her eyes, once alight with determination, seemed dulled by exhaustion.
And yet... deep within that reflection, beneath the shadows of despair, a glimmer of something still remained. The faintest ember of defiance.
"I need to find a way out of here," she breathed, clenching her fists against her thighs as if holding onto the last fragments of her strength.
No matter how far her father had cast her aside—no matter how cruelly the world sought to break her—she would not fade into nothingness. Not here. Not now.
When the ship finally reached the shores of Serapha, Sineka stumbled onto the sun-scorched sands with legs trembling from days of confinement. The heat struck her like a physical blow, heavy and suffocating against her weakened frame. Above, the sun burned high and unyielding, casting sharp shadows across the white-stone buildings that rose from the sands like remnants of a forgotten empire.
She clutched her tattered shawl tightly around her shoulders, though it offered little protection from the relentless heat. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she watched the crew unload cargo onto the sun-bleached docks, their laughter carrying on the salt-tinged air as though unaware—or simply unconcerned—by the girl who had been delivered among their crates.
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A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile
Fanfiction"Marry me," she commanded, almost. Crocodile narrowed his eyes at the impertinence of the woman who stood in front of him. "Ara," he heard Ms All Sunday mutter amusedly. "Who are you?" "Sineka Duskblade," she replied.
