I run far away.

I need to take a holiday.

Maybe it's a fall from grace.

I've got to find a new place.

I'll set off on a new chase.

A holiday.

- M. Johnson

Elizabeth Swann lounged restlessly on the small chaise pulled up snuggly alongside the open doors leading to her stateroom's balcony. Expelling a melancholy huff of air, she unfastened her delicate robe and peeled it away from her sides, letting the warm Caribbean breeze wafting through the balcony kiss the skin left bare by her silken negligee. It was a beautiful night, there was no denying. But, like every night of her life, it wasn't destined for her to enjoy.

As the lulling jazz music played softly in the background, behind her, Elizabeth heard her personal assistant, Estrella, flitting about the room, busily attending to one thing or another as the ever efficient woman did each night before seeing her off to bed. And, really, it was necessary. There were a million little details to arrange in Elizabeth's everyday life, details that Estrella dutifully organized and maintained, seeing to it that Elizabeth was where she needed to be, when she needed to be, with all the information she needed close at hand. The slightly older woman was resourceful, proficient, and thorough at seeing to her business as well as personal needs. At times she could be maddeningly inflexible about towing the family line but, all and all, she was still the closest thing to an actual friend Elizabeth had.

"A report from home, Princess," Estrella pointedly informed her, turning up the volume on the satellite radio to allow the young woman to better hear the news broadcast.

"In Royal news," the announcer began……

Of course it was a report from home, Elizabeth mused. No one had heard of their ameba of a nation outside of its immediate confines, yet ironically somehow its very existence managed to rule and dictate hers. The very thought made her want to scream. Instead she gently said, "Estrella, what have I told you?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Swann," Estrella automatically corrected herself.

Elizabeth hated being addressed by her official title. It made her feel more like a detached entity than a living breathing person. And that's precisely what she longed to be more than anything else: a real person with a chance to lead a real life and experience real things – things of her own choosing for once. Constantly being referred to as "Princess" couldn't have made her feel more abnormal…..or more imprisoned.

She had tried to get Estrella to call her by her first name, but the breech in etiquette was too much for her. The transgression of addressing her superior as "Miss Swann" instead of "Princess" was all the farther she was willing to go.

Elizabeth nodded off the woman's apology with a slight smile, her focus drifting back to the banal reporter on the radio.

"….After having spent a brief stopover in Brazil, tomorrow, the princess will be embarking on her much anticipated goodwill tour of the United States, beginning with a luncheon and reception in the U.S. Virgin Islands where the princess will share her thoughts and sentiments on the importance of tourism – a leading source of capital there, a trait held in common with our nation….."

Her thoughts, indeed, Elizabeth inwardly scoffed. The speech she would recite there – every speech she ever recited – was made up of her father's thoughts, the country's official thoughts. She never gave her own thoughts and feelings – and no one ever asked.

The broadcast continued on, oblivious of her derisive thoughts.

"From there, it's on to Miami where the princess will commence her multicity U.S. tour."

Elizabeth leapt up from the chaise and switched the radio off with more force than necessary, but for some reason tonight she simply couldn't bear to hear such things, to think about who she was – who she must be – as it was so far divergent from who she longed to be.

If the princess was in an odd temper, her assistant failed to notice, or at the very least chose not to comment. She merely sat down in the adjacent chair, setting a large portfolio out upon the walnut coffee table before them.

Slipping a pair of petite reading glasses from the pocket of her skirt and placing them lightly upon the bridge of her nose, Estrella softly cleared her throat. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, we'll go over your itinerary for tomorrow."

"Of course I would mind," Elizabeth replied moodily, heaving a heavy sigh as she stared out at the passing landscape. "I always mind," she added in a near whisper, clearly to herself.

And she did more than mind. In fact, she hated it; the measured words, the forced smiles, the carefully suppressed feelings, the feigned image of utter perfection she must project, the sheer falsity of it all.

"I know it must be difficult for you, Prin – Miss Swann – not having your father with you this trip….or the pleasure of your fiancé's company'," Estrella said flatly.

Elizabeth's eyebrow arched reflexively at her comment. James's company was amiable at best and stifling at worst, usually falling in some middle ground in between, but 'pleasure' and 'James' were not two words she would ever string together, in her thoughts or aloud. But there again was yet another time when her thoughts and feelings were not thought important enough to be consulted. The marriage had been informally arranged between her father and James long before he ever bothered to ask her for her hand. The question was superfluous anyhow, a mere courtesy to her; it was a given what the answer must be.

Still, her mind and heart screamed that it must be nice, heavenly even, to be with a man because he had captured her heart, to enjoy his softly spoken words and his kisses in the night because they made her stomach flutter and her breath still in your throat…..to marry a man because she was in love with him. But from a young age her father had cautioned her against such frivolous notions. Love was all well and good, and certainly desirable within a union. After all, he had been quite thoroughly in love with her mother. Nevertheless, marriage for love was for the masses. For their family, for her, marriage with love was a bonus, something to hope for but not necessarily to expect.

In the king's view, marriage to James was a fine match and his daughter had just as likely a chance of falling in love with him than with any other man – more so, really, as they were so similar in background, situation, and breeding. But Elizabeth knew what had blossomed into an enduring love between her mother and father would never be the case with herself and James. She was fond enough of him, but he would not have been her choice and, though she knew he was in love with her – or at least the her she was made to play – she did not share the same feeling for him, a fact she let on to no one – for what good what it do? – though at times she suspected Estrella knew the truth.

In fact, the woman was well aware of the princess's lack of enthusiasm for her impending nuptials and sympathized with her plight. Though Elizabeth's presence was an absolute must, as she was the most powerful tool in their diplomatic arsenal, it was Estrella herself who had convinced King Weatherby to allow his daughter to make the tour alone. Though she contrived reasons to sway the King, truthfully she considered it her own personal gift to Elizabeth. This trip to the United States would be her last hurrah before entering into a marriage of connivance for her country's sake. Yet, while Elizabeth would no doubt find some enjoyment in the sights, Estrella knew the youthful princess would find the necessary matters of state tedious, and abroad she would be allowed no more freedom than back home….which is why Estrella had arranged the dangling of the other carrot before her.

"I realize this tour may be tiresome for you, but at least we are sailing the Caribbean rather than flying to America, as was originally planned," Estrella pointed out.

Elizabeth made no comment, merely slumping back down into the chaise. This Caribbean jaunt was the one bright spot in what would be week's worth of traveling, simpering, smiling, and endlessly parroting the mantras that had been programmed into her. Still, she took a sort of offense at how it was being used to control her.

Her father recognized her restlessness and growing discontent, in her features and her comportment as of late, straying dangerously to the side of impropriety. He knew, particularly when displeased, she had a propensity for rash behavior which spilled into statement and conduct unbecoming a princess. But he was also well aware what, for the first time in her life, permitting his daughter such a venture would mean to her. For Elizabeth, sailing through Caribbean waters on their private yacht was akin to taking a pilgrimage to a kind of holy land. For whatever reason, the girl was obsessed with the ocean and all things nautical – pirates in particular – and he knew the hope of following the course of Buccaneer Such-and-Such from the stories she prized would be incentive enough to rein in her behavior.

"The Captain has been instructed to skirt the islands as close as possible to better suit you, Miss Swann," Estrella continued.

Elizabeth nodded her understanding, rising from the chaise to walk out onto the balcony – but not before being reminded to re-cinch her robe; a princess simply did not stand at the open window in a revealing negligee, even at sea. It was on the tip of her tongue to make a snarky retort, but she knew she had her assistant to thank for slightly altering the ship's course, and it did provide a much better landscape for sightseeing. But at the moment it all seemed rather like the delicious last meal before being lead off to one's execution.

"Now," Estrella called from inside, all business once again. "Your father wishes me to stress the importance of exercising your utmost decorum and propriety on this tour beginning with this first stop, since the nation's initial impression of you is likely to linger and, as you know, this trip – "

"Is highly necessary and pivotal to the improvement of trade relations," Elizabeth interrupted, leaning against the rail and observing the lights twinkling on the land's edge of whichever island's shore they were currently hugging. "Yes, I know."

Seeing the princess was in no mood to speak of the particulars of her schedule, Estrella tried switching tactics. "Perhaps we might discuss your manner of dress," she offered, walking off to the closet, ostensibly to retrieve some piece of clothing or another.

Elizabeth scoffed, her eyes remaining firmly glued on the not-so-distant lights from the buildings beyond, filled with the shifting shapes of people enjoying themselves and their freedom. There was a world out there just coming alive as those around her prepared to cozily bundle her off to sleep. Something within her heart filled with acute sadness that swiftly turned to anger at the thought. She wasn't a fine china doll, made to trot out when its convenience suited and tuck away high upon a shelf when not needed, a pretty ornament for all to look at and feel better knowing it was there should it be required.

Estrella stood in the balcony's doorway, holding up the outfit she sought. "Your father wishes you to wear this to the luncheon," she informed her.

Turning around, Elizabeth couldn't help but roll her eyes at the sight of the most abhorrent dress she'd ever laid eyes on. It was nothing new that she was expected to dress in lace and frills and soft colors that tested well in polls, being associated with decency, sweetness, and modesty. In all truth, she rather enjoyed dressing femininely – if comfortably – but she was not twelve years old anymore as the darling pink embroidery and ridiculous amount of bows would suggest. Surely her father must know that. Hadn't he been the one to insist she marry? And, furthermore, of all the other decisions that had been usurped from her control was she now no longer even to have an input in what she wore of all things?

She whirled away from the rail, huffing back into the room past her assistant, who immediately stepped aside to clear the princess's path. "Everything we do is so proper. I hate it," Elizabeth pouted. "Can't we simply be real?"

Estrella eyed her mistress carefully, knowing she would not like her reply, but it was the truth all the same. "Real is not meant for people like you. You live above it. It is your duty."

"And what of my dreams?" Elizabeth exasperatedly questioned, growing increasingly upset. Here she was in the Caribbean, a consolation token meant to keep her in line like a bit of candy thrown at a crying baby, but no one ever understood why she loved it so. Reading of the sea and pirates was her first glimpse of adventure and freedom, her first murky knowledge that there could be something more than her restrained, impossibly confined existence. "I dream of excitement, and wild exploits, and living by your emotions, doing something for happiness' sake, finding out all I've been missing," Elizabeth intently confided, her voice filled with emotion as she got lost in the sheer beauty of her yearnings. "I dream of a man who will know me and love for who I am, not what I am. Who will be honorable without needing to follow all the rules, all the time. Who….who will sweep me away – no," she corrected, her impassioned eyes widening. "Together we will run away, like pirates from the stories and films I love, and we'll sail away to points unknown where he'll ravage me upon some deserted beach."

"Miss Swann," Estrella gasped, chastisement clear in her tone, though by now she knew enough of the princess's eccentricities than to be to thoroughly shocked at such a bold statement. "You really shouldn't say such things, and certainly not outside of this room."

Elizabeth's face fell at Estrella's response, though she supposed she should have expected it. What she did not expect were the tears that were already beginning to sting the backs of her eyes.

"Here now, come sit upon the bed while I read you tomorrow's schedule," Estella soothed, slowly patting the fluffy quilt.

Her shoulders slumping, Elizabeth silently acquiesced, sitting down upon the bed and swinging her legs beneath the open covers that Estrella quickly tucked about her. "Very good," her assistant said approvingly. "Now, once we arrive in the Islands there will be breakfast with the Ladies Auxiliary followed by……"

The timbre of Estrella's voice seemed to meld into a single monotonous drone as she recited speeches, banquets, high teas – one oppressive commitment after another – until Elizabeth's head pounded and tears blurred her vision. "STOP! STOP IT! NO MORE! I can't take it anymore!" she cried, hot tears beginning to spill from her eyes.

Though the look on her face was one of utter surprise, bordering on absolute shock, Estrella kept her wits about her. "Miss Swann," she said comfortingly, reaching out her hand toward the obviously distraught princess.

"Always do this, be there, say this, feel that! It is never me! None of it is ever me! Always sweetness and decency and the good of the state. I want excitement, something thrilling, and freedom," Elizabeth agitatedly expounded. "To be real, to do something purely because I want to, because I like it, because it feels good!"

"Prin – princess!" Estrella called more forcibly, hoping in the harshness of her tone to shock the young woman from her frenzied outburst.

But the pounding in her head – the screaming of her heart, too long choked in repression – would not be silenced. She'd been living under too much stress, too much pressure to be something she was not, too much unhappiness, pent up depression and emotional pain for likely never having what she longed.

As the tears continued to stream down her cheeks, Elizabeth more quietly, though no less earnestly proclaimed, "I'm a person. I'm not a princess."

"Miss Swann, please, try to control yourself."

Elizabeth continued on as if unhearing – or merely refusing to listen. "I'm a woman! I'm not a princess! I'm not a princess. I'm not a princess." She repeated the words over and over until her throat became raw from the effort.

Not knowing what else to do in the face of Elizabeth's hysteria, Estrella ran from the room to fetch the royal doctor who had tended to the princess since birth and always traveled with her entourage wherever they might go.

When Estrella and the doctor reentered the stateroom, Elizabeth still sat in her bed, her arms wrapped consolingly about her middle as she continued to declare to no one in particular, "I'm not a princess. Not…..No. No more."

Estrella gazed to the doctor somewhat fearfully as she hurried to her mistress's side. "Control yourself, Elizabeth," she begged.

The unexpected use of her given name, as she had always hoped for and instructed, seemed to reach beyond the haze of Elizabeth's hysteria and at last she was quiet, the tears appearing to ebb in their flow.

Reaching down deep into his medical bag and withdrawing a large bottle, the doctor quickly scanned the label, giving a cursory nod at his apparent successes, before opening the bottle and shaking out two small pills into his palm. "Here," he calmly instructed, transferring them to Elizabeth's hand. "Take these, Princess, and you will feel much better."

Her outburst, though long coming, had worn her considerably, and Elizabeth fell back on childhood training, following orders and doing what was expected of oneself without complaint. As such, she took the glass of water Estrella handed her and dutifully swallowed the pills – whatever they were – clinging to the doctor's assertion that these mysterious capsules would bring her relief from her suffering.

"That's a good girl," the kindly doctor smiled. The young princess had always been headstrong and a bit of a handful, but he truly was fond of her. "There now. Just lie back and relax and soon you'll feel as good as new."

Sniffing, Elizabeth did as she was bid, sinking back against the pillows.

"Come," the doctor subtly instructed Estrella, taking hold of her arm and beginning to lead her from the room. "We will leave her now."

Estrella followed the man to the doorway, but paused before walking through, unsure of whether she should leave her mistress in such a state, though she seemed to be all right enough now, blinking and wiping her puffy eyes. "Are you sure she will be fine on her own?"

"Yes," the doctor quietly replied. "The pills will begin to take effect soon, and she'll be fast asleep, dead to the world, within the hour." When the princess's loyal assistant still hesitated, the doctor assured her, "The pills effect will last well into the morning. She'll be fine the remainder of the night."

At length, Estrella nodded, withdrawing from the room and gently closing the door behind them.

Left alone, Elizabeth gazed about the luxurious stateroom. As she watched the shadows dancing upon the walls, made from the incoming moonlight bouncing off the sea, she began to feel embarrassed at her childish outcry. Neurotic bouts of tears were not at all her style. Nor was her uncharacteristic loss of control….But, really, perhaps she shouldn't be embarrassed at all…..No, after a moment or two, her response seemed rather fitting. Why fight for control of her emotions? She already had no control of her life.

Throwing back the covers, she rose from the bed and crossed the room to the still-open balcony, stepping outside into the warm night air. Leaning out as far as the railing would allow, Elizabeth studied the lights upon shore. They seemed so welcoming, so full of vivacity.

From the outside looking in, her life was enviable and she wouldn't begin to deny there were certain enjoyable privileges to being a royal, born with a silver spoon so to speak. But looking out, she sincerely doubted that, if they really knew the terribly lonely and isolate life she must lead, a single one of the happy people upon the shore would trade places with her if given all the world in exchange.

The demands upon her were strenuous, every minute of her days and nights was scheduled and every bit of her social life regulated, leaving little time for personal enjoyments could see even find any within the limited range of her sequestered existence.

Heaving a little sigh, Elizabeth wished more than anything that she could be an anonymous one amongst the people on shore, soaking in the liveliness and merriment. But what had Estrella said?.....It was not meant for her. But why not, her heart sadly questioned. For so long, too long – forever really – she had been living vicariously through television, films, books, and even the servants' romances, always looking out at life but never living it. When would it be her time to experience something real? For, all at once, she could not accept 'never' as an answer.

As her eyes locked upon the glowing lights of this near, unspecified island's shore, it suddenly became clear in her heart and mind what she must do. For the first time in her life, she was about to take control.

Pushing herself off the railing and whirling about, she strode with a purpose back into her stateroom, dropping to her knees before her armoire and hurriedly selecting an outfit.

For reasons even she could not name, tonight it was as if the weight of a lifetime's worth of restriction and forced conformity was all coming to blows, bearing down impossibly upon her until it came down to at last shoving the weight off or being crushed beneath it – and shove it off she intended to do.

Finished swiftly redressing, Elizabeth grabbed the entirety of her ready money from beneath the hidden panel in her desk drawer, shoving the wads of cash into her wallet and, having the presence of mind to toss her shoes in as well, she quickly resealed her purse. Securing its long handle over her neck, she adjusted the strap as tightly as it would go across her body so the bag rested snugly against her hip; for what she was about to do she would need her hands and arms free.

Without allowing herself the time to think too long or hard about what she was about to do, Princess Elizabeth Swann climbed atop the balcony's rail and leapt into the sea below.

In the beginning, she was energized by her choice, thrilled at the thought of her impending independence and running on sheer adrenaline. But it was not above five minutes before she began to seriously regret her decision. The shore was much farther away that it had appeared from the safety of her yacht and, though Elizabeth was a strong swimmer, having taken lessons since the age of two, she quickly began to tire. All at once, she was feeling downright strange, whether from the coolness of the water or the tug of the current she could not say. Still, she was experienced in swimming the open waters and knew how to handle the pull of the tides; that pleasure at least she had been allowed as an adolescent. But there was something more to this oddness fast overtaking her, this strange lethargic inertia that made her arms and legs feel as if they were made of lead.

Then it occurred to her increasingly fogged mind that the pills she had taken must have been more than mere vitamins or energy boosters as she'd been given in the past. In a rush, she suddenly comprehended she had swallowed sedatives, or sleeping pills of some sort, and was fast falling victim to their effects.

Foolish, foolish girl, her mind chided. What had she done? She would soon be too tired to fight and would find her death in the very sea she worshipped. The swift panic, the absolute terror that overtook her at the knowledge that her very life was in eminent danger spurred her on, giving her a second wind. She swam toward the lights with all her might, determined to make it to the now not-so-distant shore – or die trying.

She rode the crest of the waves as they crashed toward land, but with each stroke of her weary arms her addled mind increasingly lost sight of her goal, and abruptly it seemed to matter less and less to keep swimming; it was too hard and much easier to simply let go and give in to the sleep. Yet something innate within her fought to remain conscious, to keep moving until…..at last she saw the dock, not more than six feet before her. If she could only reach it…..

Stretching out her arm, a last lapping wave did the trick and her fingers caught hold of the metal rung of one the ladders built into the pier to aid the local swimmers who found sport in jumping off it. Bringing her left hand alongside her right, with her last vestiges of strength she climbed the ladder's slippery rungs, pulling herself from the water to flop belly down upon the wooden pier.

Aboard the royal yacht, Estrella knew the doctor could be trusted. Yet she could still not bring herself to rest until she had checked in on the princess one last time. Slowly opening her stateroom door and tiptoeing inside, she neared the bed and gasped to find it empty.

"Princess? Princess?" she called, frantically searching the room. "Princess!" she screamed, rounding every corner of the cabin. "Elizabeth!" she tried again, after a hurried sweep of the loo turned up empty. Just then, a breeze blew through the stateroom, causing the lacey curtains to flutter in the wind, drawing Estrella's attention to the balcony. That was when she caught sight of the overturned chair near the rail and knew at once what had happened.

She shouted to her lady's security team, "HURRY! QUICKLY! IN HERE!", knowing at least one of the men would be stationed closely outside the princess's door.

Within seconds, one burly man, than another – a few with their guns drawn – flooded the room, their eyes scanning for any signs of threat or malice.

"Over here!" Estrella beckoned. "The princess, she – "

"Where is she?" Gillette, the head of security, impatiently demanded.

"She's – she's gone overboard," Estrella wretchedly declared.

As soon as the words had been spoken there was a flurry of activity as the men swept out onto the balcony, Gillette hastily speaking through his Bluetooth and summoning the captain.

Estrella fell away into the background, retreating to the corner of the stateroom, when she tripped and nearly fell over the princess's robe and negligee carelessly discarded upon the ground. With a sickening feeling quickly overtaking her gut, her eyes darted to the open armoire, next to the still-lifted bottom of the desk drawer, and finally to the coffee table, where the princess's purse had last been, which now lay empty. And then she knew what she had suspected from the beginning but refused to admit to herself….or anyone else. The princess had not fallen; she had jumped.

Everyone aboard was rocked with the force of the ship quickly turning about and retracing its watery steps, but after several long minutes it seemed to no avail.

"The princess?" Gillette spat, taking the steps two at a time on his ascent to the control room. "Is there any sign of her?"

The captain hesitated, obviously not relishing the words he was about to speak. "She's….either she's eluded us or……she's drowned, sir."

Violently choking, and in the process heaving up the bit of acrid salt water she had inadvertently taken in, Elizabeth woozily pushed herself up from the wet wooden planks. She knew she couldn't stay there all night. She had to find shelter, some dry clothes, a soft, warm bed. Her mind told her this as she stumbled, one step after the next, but her body seemed not to comply……and she was so tired, so very tired. Nearing the edge of the pier, where the sand rose up to support the wooden beams, Elizabeth spied a bench just off the path of what looked like a small, primitive road, or at least a footpath.

……Yes. That would do fine. If she could just sit down a moment. Reaching the bench and doing just that, she amended her thought. No, if she could just lie down a moment, she corrected, stretching out her sore and fatigued limbs. She would just close her eyes for a moment – just rest them for a small second – then she would start walking again.

And, within thirty second's time, she fell fast asleep.

AN: So here's the first chapter.....Let me know what you think. ; )