Dear Lord, why had such a terrible reverie plague my mind? I dreamed that I had gone to the Royal Ball Ailana is to hold today. That alone was dark enough a thought, I wish not to experience the bore more than once. Then, the Commodore had proposed to me in so queer a way! A proposal. Just think, Lord, I would not make a good wife. I am already nineteen, I should’ve been married four years ago if I were to be. I know that I would not make a proper wife, to many errs I would have, for my imagination escapes the bounds of normal reality. No no, I would not do the Commodore justice, it must’ve been a dream. My novels designs have been invading my sleeping thoughts, for I dreamt I was abducted. Oh dear, this has happened again, hasn’t it? Just last month I fell off the bed for a night terror left me pale and breathless. Oh how real it was, as this one too. How clear those two men were. The greater, callous one, and the taller, yet softer one who held the handkerchief to my face. What a sweet smell it was; I wonder what chemical could possibly have had such an effect. I’m sure the Commodore had told me when we were younger, but how my memory escapes me.

                Yet, when I recall that dream in my state between awake and asleep, his eyes were so clear, the taller one. What did he whisper as I slipped away? I know not, but how I wish I did. Those dark orbs, so full of regret. Did he not wish to do what he did? Of course I would have dreamt him as such, a pirate-like fiure with a true heart. Isn’t that what made a story interesting: a criminal’s internal conflict?

                “Hey, Princess!”  Some horrid, boar-like voice disrupted my thoughts, and returned me to the painful reality I was in. I felt as if a vase had broken over the back of my head. My eyes scrunched closed tighter, and I groaned, reaching up to rub the spot. “Hey!” There was that voice again. Curse that lamentable sound, who did Father hire now and why the hell is he in my bedchamber? Suddenly, a wave of sickness washed over me as I realized I wasn’t still. What was that man doing so that I was not still in my quarters? Damn him, I shall have to fix that. Opening one eye, and locking on to the keeper of the unpleasant speech, I froze. It was the brute of my nightmare last night. What the bloody hell was he doing here? Did I see him some day ago? Did he give me such a fright that I imagined him a terrible pirate?

                His lips turned up, exposing his yellowed, rotting, jagged line of teeth. A hoarse laugh left his throat, rough, like nails running down the blackboard at the college. Looking around, I was not met with the soft, cream walls of my room. Instead, a dark oaken wall to one side, wet, smelling of sea mist and sealant. Frantically looking to my left, bars. Bars of cast iron from the floor to the ceiling, made of the same oak as the wood. Mildewed straw scattered about the floor sent a pungent stench filling my nose, sickening my churning stomach more. What of the sweet smell in my mind? How far this was from that memory, how far that was from the reality I was now a part of.

                It had not been a dream. None of it was a dream. My eyes flickered down to my left hand, and sure enough, the brilliant diamond engagement ring hanging onto my finger so closely, a perfect fit. Turning my attention back to the disagreeable creature before me, I returned his toothy, erse grin with a dark, cold glare.

                “Remove yourself from my presence; you do not want me to remove you myself.” I growled at him, getting another grating chuckle in return. Instead of doing as I asked, he did quite the opposite. He leaned forward, the disgusting breath falling out and churning my sickness further as the ocean does its waters.

                “Man! Step back!” I heard a dark, harsh command, and looked up to see the other man of my dream bearing down upon the round boar. Nothing happened, though he was given a command by an obviously superior comrade. It was if the tension between these two was as great as between France and England, my King and Napoleon Bonaparte. There must’ve hard one too many a disagreement in past months or years. Harbored feelings of resentment towards the taller, more agreeable one exuded from the plump male. “Do you want me to get the Captain involved or will you depart quietly?” With a loud puff of breath and a slew of grumbles, curses, and misappropriate words, the male finally left my proximity and sauntered dejectedly out of whatever form of a room I was in. Finally being able to breath, I sat up, hissing at the pain in my head that shot down through my back. “Are you alright?”

                “Oh, what’s this? Care from someone who stole me away from my place? What a knight you are.” I spat at him as I massaged where my head felt as if it were splitting apart.

                “Think what you wish. If you don’t comply well enough, I can always bring Roland back in here.” Cringing at the thought, I brought my knees close and tried to stand. My knees wobbled as I got about half up, before giving out completely. I fell forward, but instead of meeting the hard floor, I met with a softer grip. Looking up, the male was watching me with a worried expression before avoiding my gaze and coughing uncomfortably. I pulled myself from his arms and held onto the bars near me instead. “In all graveness, Princess, are you alright? You’re quite unstable.”

                “Princess?” I looked over at him, brow furrowed in confusion. The thought came into my mind suddenly, my attire, my face, the setting in which he had met me. I must’ve looked like dear Ailana or close enough. I wondered how for a moment, she dressed far gaudier than I, reveling in the attention she garnered. “I’m far from a princess, sir. As far as my health, I am fine, just racked a bit. You should be worried if I were not, after being abducted as I was.” He muttered something in a foreign language, hand covering the nape of his neck. I took the moment to study him. His hair, a soft gold, brilliant even in the shadow. It reached his shoulder, and looked well kept. This man was far too pleasant to be a part of what I assumed he was. He couldn’t be a pirate. In all honesty, if one were to put him in a suit, pulled back his hair in a ribbon, and fixed some of his English, he could easily pass for a foreign noble.

                “What say you?” I looked back into his eyes, realizing I had trailed far off in my mind. His eyebrows pulled up, revealing more of his incomparable eyes; a dance of different emotions, each one fighting to be known, each one masked by another clawing to consume the soul.

                “Forgive me, I was thinking. Pray, speak again.” I focused on what he spoke to me this time, difficult as it was.

                “Would you like a look around the ship?”

                “What ship is it, may I inquire?”

                “The Âme Voleur.” My breath caught in my throat. A coughing fit wracked my body and he tried to help me again, but I held up a hand to halt him. I sat back down and reigned in my shock-induced fit.

                “It can’t be, the Soul Thief is just a work of fiction; a made up ship with a made up band of pirates for the sake of people’s own sick enjoyment, including my own. That vessel is a part of the plots of several novels. It can’t exist. No, it doesn’t exist.” I shook my head vigorously; he couldn’t be telling me the truth. He was a tease. That had to be it! He was just kidding with me, trying to get me riled up. Lifting my wary gaze, I found he was gazing back with a grave frown.

                “Do you want to find out for yourself, Princess?” He waved his hand towards the door, allowing me to leave with him to investigate. Surely he was bluffing. I remained a quivering stone in the corner of this room, scared to leave. What if he be honest? What then? Would I be thrown on the ship? Would I be forced back in here? What would they do to me? What if the worst came to happen? Nay, I shall not think of it. “Come, I assure you, no harm will come while I am with you.”

                “Are you the Captain?” My inquiry earned a light chuckle as he stepped forward and held out both of his hands for me. I gingerly placed mine in his, unsure of his intentions. He surprised me by using a bit of force and pulling me to his feet. I wasn’t prepared for such a jostle that I landed against his chest.

                “The Captain, is the very man of the novels you mentioned. He is what they write about him and so much more. I am most certainly not him. You should be pleasantly complying to me knowing that, I would never even think about hurting you.” He assured in a whisper as he straightened me, placed a hand just above my hip, where the material of my festive dress shot out and down in a cascade of ruffles, lace, and ribbon. He led me out of the cell, pushing me along a bit harshly occasionally, as I would slow to note little details below deck. The tall male helped me up the stairs, lifting my skirts only high enough to step up.

                Stepping out on deck, was like a whole fresh resurgence. The fresh sea wind picked my dark, silken hair from my shoulder, as light as the breeze itself. A flock of gulls flew above us, flying around with the light wind. My eyes feasted upon the magnificent black sails, filled out by the wind, which propelled us towards our next destination. Crewmembers scaled the endless ropes, trading places with the others as a set of four bells resounded in the early morning air. A lightly cloudy day it was, those bright, billowy tufts chasing us like the gulls. I spun once on the deck, not care in the world. My skirts flew around me, flowing like the waters themselves. As I stopped and looked up towards the bridge. My eyes fell upon a statue-like figure, both in stoic nature and ethereal handsomeness. He reminded me of the one who brought me up on deck. He was staring off into the distance, both hands on the helm, steering with the knowledge of years of practice it seemed. I noticed his gaze fell to me for a moment, breaking his stoic expression into a smug smirk, before reverting to the statue.

                Turning away, I mentally noted to ask later. The taller male stood, tongue-in-cheek, one hand on the hilt of his sword, and the other combing back through his hair. He seemed to be asking a question with his eyes.

                “Sails of the darkest night, deck of a rare dark oak, not the type that has been weathered by the sea, an oakum sealant made from my guess is a rare type of horse from where you originally came from, and a particularly disagreeable crew; yeah, I’m sure this is the Âme Voleur.” My voice was laced with sarcasm and he took my wrist, none-too-delicately, I would like to point out, and dragged me along towards the bow. Just as I was about to protest, he pushed me up against the railing, forcing me to look at the figurehead guiding the vessel.

                A chilling carving of Death himself, his dark cloak covering whatever trace of a face he would have hung from the bowsprit. A marred, clawed skeletal arm extended just under the pole, pointing out to the horizon, locking onto its next dispirited victim. The spotting of this figure laid out your death as if it were the map of the known world. This figure, drawn to an exact detail in all of the books I had read involving this particular ship, couldn’t have even been drawn exactly right, for fear set in too far before the artist would complete. No illustration could prepare the spectator’s heart for such a frightening sight. Not only was the figurehead traumatic, but the knowledge, and imagination, for what resided on that very vessel.

                “Now do you believe me, Princess?” He whispered against my ear, his hands resting gently on my shoulders. Nodding solemnly, I stepped back, him stepping with me. I wanted nothing more than to go back in my cage and hide. “Do you wish to see anything else?” I shook my head, declining his offer, though uncharacteristically generous of his kin. Walking past him, I took up my skirts and descended below deck silently, soberly. I retraced our earlier steps, entering what I know knew to be a cage, keeping me until they decided how to dispose of me. I was just an expendable piece of flesh to them, I realized. It was only a matter of time before I would be dead. “Talk to me.” The soft voice that was growing to be oddly familiar and comforting sounded from next to my ear. My eyes fell closed gently,

                “I thought any of it be a part of fiction. I didn’t realize it truly existed.” My heart wrenched uncomfortably. Why me? Of all the people they could have taken, why was I the one who was stolen? I was plucked from society, likely never to be seen in one piece again.

                My cares before this had been so trivial. I fret over being subjugated to a man, Commodore Renner no less. He was a man who would take care of me, protect me, and he would be one to encourage my imagination. Now, I was miles away from home, not even sure if I would make it to the next morning. The only shred of hope I had remained in this man before, sitting childishly with crossed legs, who seemed to have a soul.

                I prayed he wasn’t the only one who actually had a beating heart. Perhaps, if any luck would happen in this world, I would see England again, even if only as I drew my dying breath.

                Even that hope seemed out of reach on this vessel of slaughtered souls, a crew as black as demons, and a captain who was likely Death taken on a human form.

                This vessel of lost hopes, excruciating deaths, and infectious nightmares.

                The Âme Voleur