Set Your Sails...to Neverland || Peter Pan, OUAT

Chapter 31 - Dead Men Tell No Tales

Dead men tell no tales,

Except of barges with red sails,

And sailors made of nightingales.

Except of jongleurs stretched at ease

Beside old highways through the trees;

Except of dying moons that break

The hearts of lads who lie awake;

Except of fortresses in shade,

And heroes crumbled and betrayed

But dead men tell no tales, they say!

Except old tales that burn away

The stifling tapestries of day;

Old tales of life, of love and hate,

Of time and space, and will, and fate.

~ Davina

The smell that invades my senses isn't one I'm familiar with, but it's not pleasant either. If I hold my breath any longer I'll die, so I let go and inhale the scent of rotten fish. My eyes flutter open and I lift my head, gritting my teeth against the crick in my neck, caused by my head hanging down for such a long time. My vision adjusts to the little available lighting, and I know exactly where I am.

The hold of The Flying Dutchman.

Which explains the pungent smell that's an assault on my senses. I try to move my arm to massage the stiff muscles in my neck and shoulders but find my hands bound around the back of a chair. I try to move my feet, but they're bound too. Memories of my first day in Neverland come rushing to the forefront of my brain. If only then I knew that those times were a lot easier. Look at the mess I'm in now. 

The ship rocks and creaks, and seawater pools around my boots. My arms and legs are numb, the cramp in my neck becomes worse, my mouth is bone-dry and my throat burns. I tug against the chains but the iron cuts and creates a burning pain against my skin. I keep pulling, determined to loosen the chains, stretch them enough that eventually they snap and I'm free. But I won't ever be free as long as I'm alive. Alive...I wonder how... then I hear a bolt sliding back, followed by a loud creak. I look up, and the sunlight blinds me. I squint against the burning light and I can just make out a figure, but who, I don't know. Until a part of his face moves and I know exactly who it is. The door shuts again, and the steps from the door to the floor of the hold creak under each thudding step of my visitor, or rather, captor. Something drags on the floor behind him, and his face only becomes visible when he comes into the fraction of light in front of me.

"Hello, Davina. How are we today?"

I gather what moisture I can in my mouth to speak, "Oh I'm feeling a bit tied up."

"Nice to hear you've still got your sense of your humour."

"Nicer than the smell down here. Next time you're recruiting, get a cleaner. Or a gardener."

Suddenly, his tentacled face is inches from mine. His paling blue eyes boring into my own deep blue irises. I keep a straight face as he searches for some kind of tell-tale sign that I've had enough and I'm ready to divulge all of my secrets. One of his tentacles moves forward and brushes a strand of hair from my face and I flinch but hold my ground.