Hey, everyone! We're getting down to a day or two before the premier of At World's End, and I thought I'd post the fic that's been floating around in my mind for awhile. The prologue is a letter, but don't worry, not all of it will be! Also, it'll seem really confusing with a lot of references you might not know, but I plan to clear all those up in the rest of the story! So, sit back, relax, and don't sue me, because I don't own any of the characters that you recognize!

Peter,

Writing backwards is always so much easier, isn't it? In retrospect, you can calmly record the events for posterity, without the passion of a betrayal, or a heartbreak, or a wedding to cloud your thoughts.

After all, if you're writing about previous events it must mean that they're worth writing about. Who in the future, near or far, would really want to read about another day? One with normal everyday things, like another ball or another ceremony.

Ah, but I'm contradicting myself already. To a blacksmith, a ball is hardly normal. In fact, I'd imagine it's quite terrifying. They'd much rather spend the day locked in a small, humid smith with their swords and their drunken masters and their simple dreams. But, those are hardly normal for a governor's daughter. And neither of them are use to an adventure with undead pirates and rum and opportune moments. However, that's nothing unusual, let alone a reason to blink, for a certain Captain…

Yes, I suppose that 'normal' depends not on the event, but the person referring to it.

As I sit here arguing with myself, wasting a great deal of parchment and ink, I suppose I've come full circle. This will all be easier to sort out in my head later. In retrospect.

Originally, retrospect had been my excuse. You've locked me in this cabin on this ship, and told me to write. Write about everything, from the day we met to the day I swore I'd never love you, no matter what you said. Write about what's rushing through my head now. How can I explain when I hardly know you? Perhaps in a few years I'll know how to tell you. Dreadfully sorry.

But I learned long ago that it's impossible to say no to you. You're too stubborn and too bitter and too fed up with me. You want answers, and I wish I was more prepared to give them to you. You think I've forgotten the steam over the water and the cold bars in the bitter night and my bare skin on the cold floor? Well, there's more room in my memory than you apparently anticipated. I can remember times of joy and panic.

And, of course, none of this is making sense to you. Because most of my apologies have taken place only in my mind. There's so much I'd love to say to you, but I can't. How I got here, why I left, who I went after. You wouldn't understand, though. How many times have we ever talked about our past?

You never really knew me at all.

And it's on that note that this explanation turns into a farewell. Except, unlike another farewell that you never knew, this isn't stained with tears and lined with regret.

Because I'd thought this letter through entirely years before I sat down to write it (a few minutes ago). And, in retrospect, I knew exactly what to say.

-Elizabeth

Rereading my work, I already know that the words I've chosen are perfect. For the five years that I've been away from home, I've been rehearsing these words in my head. They're my excuse, my way to get back to him. Back to Will. These words pardon my every move from the time I first stepped onto Boston soil to just now, when I finished the makeshift rope I will use to climb over the side of the ship. We're just barely out of port, and I'll still be able to reach land by midmorning tomorrow. Besides, I've used the rope trick before...

I've grown a lot since the summer of my eighteenth year, not so much physically as mentally. This forsaken journey has nearly broken my spirit.

But I can't explain that now. Not with the past still glowing in the dark night. Paul, my fiancé, roughly shoved me into the captain's cabin on this ship as it makes its way from an English port back to Boston. He thinks that I'm a prize to be won. To be tamed. He won't come back here for me until we reach land again. He'll expect me to stroll out on deck suddenly adoring and ready to be the abiding wife I was meant to be. I have a few hours until dawn, when I will need to make my escape.

And so I take out another piece of parchment, date the top 16 June, 1736, and begin writing to Will.

Alright, I know it may sound confusing, but give it a chance! If you really didn't get it, and were baffled by the whole thing, it's basically that Elizabeth left Port Royal for some reason (you don't know what the status of her relationship with Will was), where she traveled from place to place until reaching Boston, where she was forced into engagement (you don't know why/how) to a man named Peter Blackwell, who doesn't treat her too kindly, she runs away, some other stuff happens, then some more stuff, and then she gets dragged back towards Boston, but she plans to make her escape… I figured I'll post this first chapter up here, and see how it goes over. I'll check back in on Saturday to see how many reviews I got, and if they sound mostly positive I'll post the next chapter!

By the way, if you've read this far, you're amazing!

-Fee