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Khallida

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The candle burned low now...spitting tendrils of smoke as Khallida rubber her tired eyes, not having risen from her seat at the window facing the rolling tide. The sun dial has long been basked in shadow, its hands only ghostly apparitions delicately marking what was left of the night. A veiled sun would show soon with a break of dawn, but would not penetrate the hanging mist dwelling over the waters like a ghost. Somewhere a gull picked up its plaintive mourning call. They were nearing their dock.


She stood after long, feet rubbed raw by scabbing calluses which shifted in her ill fitting clogs to move a hand over the hand-written scroll. When one that knew her would look into her thoughts these days they would find them much altered. When she would lay in her bunk late at night the small speck of a girl was disappearing. Where the peaceable island had once been there was new, unmapped territory, a realm where the power held court and blood divided the reverie and mutiny with prospect, recruitment and the means of vengeance.


There was a time for exact change. Within her she felt a twitch, a fever. It was as if her cells recognized the sounds of his voice, the grunts that went on into the night and bred within them a thirst, a hunger for what he called his own. She waited and laid there, feeling her thoughts branch and unfurl in their deathlessness, like blooms acknowledging an untrustworthy source of light until her skin would crawl with an itch for a dagger and shed enter his chamber, swaying in her light silks to climb upon his bed and end his rule in unseeing passion of a calculated strike. His body stiffened and jerked, the breath trapped in his throat in a gurgle of spit and blood and then quivered out. That blood became new ink to her calligraphy, and so in that she dipped her quill tonight.


Of course it took some time to convince the men it had to be done so. That a light-haired blonde with stands so fine they blended into the sunny skies could cause more treachery, reap in more coin and add to their collections of hearts. That no one would see a woman so small barring the fangs so sharp. She had two bright, deeply set almond shaped eyes in a face that may have been called fair, sparkled with freckles... features so proportionate that they seemed to be chiseled out of marble, she was beautiful in her own right wearing a scowl with an effortless permanence. Still, careful whispers were planted and word spread to sear as fire amongst those willing to protest as they took a silent vow to stand at her side when she burns the world around them.


She turned then, brushing a hand over the wrinkled folds of her frock, fingers pausing to caress the several dark stains, glancing down at them and then to the brute that stood to guard the exit, hands flexed over his torso in a fold, muscles visible below his tightly rolled sleeves. His neck bore a large gash which healed...pulling its skin taunt just over his collar, boring a ghostly reminder of life barely escaped which was just presently lived but a dawn ago.


An apparition of a smile played up the corners of the her lips as she took a few strides forth, thrusting the scroll into the commanded hold of the guard. "I trust you find the receiver. Make sure you make the message clear...Ned is no longer in command over his ship. Nor were any oh his loyal deckhands left alive...only those merely grasping breaths to dye out by next nightfall as their lids were sewn shut...singed with the memory of the last visage they saw. Mine. Now off you go..."


A heel would turn then and approach a corner where a crouched form of dark haired girl held onto her folded limbs as if to life by the door. The blonde woman whispered to her ear as if begging permission. That is how she would take it anyway...or at least that's how she would remember it for some time before she has lost all of her ability to reason. Before the last ounce of humanity left the blonde one's soul. But of course, its unlikely she even asked at all. Even still, desperation can riddle a heart with consent. The girl's was heavy with it. She was about to impress upon the urgency to get clothes before she grabbed her shoulder, her touch instructive as the girl tried to hunch over to hide her nakedness...but the woman was intent on making her rise and steer her through the door.

- "Go wake your sister" she would say in level tone "Your duties here are done, you shall both serve me in smaller purpose or jump from dock"

The heavy oak door would slam behind her form as the new mistress of this chamber would approach the windows to throw them wide open, nostrils flare to inhale the subtle scent of the sea air. The sun had crested bringing with it new hypothesis of uncertain tomorrow.

 

The gull's song took a meaning....


Of steel blades and cross remarks


Of laughter which would be the last,


Of drinks never to taste lips again...


Of gold coins spilled from grasps...


To widow's pain, and pirates gain.

 

Ah dawn, we welcome thee...

 

Kinship News

Welcome Crew.

by KhallidaHester, 345 days ago

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