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TODAY’S NEWSPAPERS ECHO with the name of a young, up-and-coming captain. RED-HAIRED SHANKS, they read, in bold, emblazoned letters, WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE.
in his photo, he SMILES: brown eyes glinting with MISCHIEF from underneath the shadows of a tattered straw hat. it’s a BRIGHT, blinding thing, that grin of his, and he brandishes it at the camera with PRIDE, wisps of crimson—red hair framing a DASHING, rugged face. a tattered straw hat sits crookedly on top of his head, ILL—FITTING, as if it weren’t exactly his own; but the brash insouciance plastered all over his visage bears credence to the fact that he’s got EVERY intention of making it so.
and SOON ENOUGH, he will: the wind will carry his name across oceans, and the waves will take him to distant lands. he’ll find LOVE in the firm strike of the world’s greatest swordsman, and he’ll find LOSS in the desperate cries of a daughter. but most of all, he’ll find the FUTURE in the eyes of a young, foolhardy boy, twinkling with the promise of becoming the KING OF THE PIRATES.
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