Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean. Only my twists to the story and my added characters.

Prologue

As I sat there, watching the waves tease the tide, I wondered what sorta fate brought me da to his end. No idea how tha man died, only that a Mr. Gallagher was no longer sailin' the seas. Didn't make all that much o' a difference ta me; he wasn't around. Left me mum and me ta fend fer ourselves. Left us nuthin' more than that small cottage on the outskirts o' port. It wasn't the most luxurious establishment, but we fit inside fine.

The truth 'bout me da came ta us when he was killed. Word eventually gets around the wo'ld sooner or later. All different versions o' the same tale. Captain Bartley Gallagher, rose to his position by leading a mutiny against the captain o' the Siren's Fury. Years o' lootin' and pillaging or plundering or what have you, caught up with him. Stories of being murdered in battle, fallen overboard durin' a storm; not sure which was real, but what'd it matter? Though me mum had a rough time wit' tha news. Shortly after, winter came and took her ill. Fever bested out any hope we had.

I was 12, just a wee lass. It forced me ta grow up, fend fer meself. Mr. Rory was much like a grand da ta me. An eldery man with graying hair and a short beard. He owned a smithy. Tha man saw me wanderin' tha streets, drunk I was. Any alcohol left by ma, and though I dunno why, I found meself downing bottles endless.

Firstly twas remedial tasks as I learned the craft of creating swords. Said I reminded him o' his daughter. When I asked o' her whereabouts, he told me she ran off to see the wo'ld. Hadn't 'eard from her since. Mr. Rory explained ta me that she was too free spirited ta be bound by land, ta spend her time wasting space in one spot. He gave me a spare room ta reside in. Didn't pay me a lot, claimed tha pay was the caretaking he provided. I didn't mind. He was easy ta confide in, taught me how ta grow inta meself.

But it had me questionin' still. Me own skin wasn't always comfortable. I was often aching, physically, fer something tha I wasn't sure o'. Any extra time I had, I stayed on tha beach. Digging me toes inta the warm sand, the salty therapy washin' over me ankles, then me knees. I didn't question anything o' the sea, or in it. Or meself. Me skin would tingle, like little fish kissing goosebumps. I would predict the weather. Me bones would send me shivering almost violently before a storm arrived. Before me ma left, she would sing a lullaby and hold me tight. She only thought I was scared. But the first few falls of rain ta the sea and I was tranquil as a low tide.

Tha nightmares and dreams were somethin' ta be reckoned wit', me da cursed ta me mum once. As a babe, I would have trouble sleeping wit'out the lull o' tha sea. Or I would fall asleep short, and wake up screaming bloody murder. Voices whispered in my head, never making sense. Me ma was afraid I was cursed or possessed. Me da would brush it off the few times he was home. It became routine and no one questioned it anymore.

The deeper inta the sea I swan, the calmer I felt. It was my companion. The voices woulda scared most off, but it lured me further. I was used ta them.

Sirens.

Shimmering scales reflecting off the moonlight beneath the surface were hypnotic. Beautiful soprano chanting melted with the lower hymns. The language still unclear, though I somehow understood. Surrounded by these creatures, they frantically circled me and I softly shut me eyes. A cool breath o' air flowed next ta me ear;

"Maeve."

When I opened them, the scene disappeared. Jus' I and the sea. Small drops of rain drummed on the water above my head.

Mr. Rory spotted me on tha shore tha next mornin', spewing 'bout how stupid I musta been ta sleep there and what tha hell would've possessed me ta do such a thing. I never told him. Something about me experience seemed almost sacred. Luckily he took it as a dangerous way ta cope wit' me poor childhood. He did tha best he could; he also knew he wouldn't ever replace me mum. I tried ta thank 'im by doing me jobs ta me fullest potential. I suppose I yearned fer someone ta be proud o' me.

Days mended themselves tagether and the voices didn't stop. They weren't ever threatening. Jus' intriguing. I never saw the mermaids again, but they always called fer me. Since I didn't know anything different, I took it fer what it was.

Few years later I got meself a job in Mary's Tavern. A frequent favorite of pirates and other sailors o' sorts sittin' in tha center of port. I served them their rum and whisky. Got so drunk they couldn't speak proper. The music was jolly and tha other ladies I worked alongside would be even jollier when invited to spend tha night next ta one o' the men. I wasn't much interested, I often chose the shore over the scoundrels. More than once or twice I was approached by tha bastards pushin' fer me ta join them. They mostly repulsed me. I saw what a man could do ta his wife wit' me ma and da and I wasn't gonna be on the receiving end. Strangely yet fortunately enough, I was able to send them away by hypnotizing them. To cease the fighting strategy, look straight into their eyes and sing softly the chants the voices taught me. They were putty in me hands and it got them to leave me alone. Sorta like how ya hear the mermaids bringin' the sailors inta them and having control. 'cept fer I didn't kill 'em later.

Tha men o' tha tavern never crossed me mind more than once. Save fer a Sparrow. Bloody rascal visited rarely but ya always knew when he was in town. Quite the infamous man. O' all tha stories I heard 'round the tables, his were me favorite ta listen ta. He was different. Couldn't place me finger on it but I liked it. His stories were tha most unpredictable, kept ye on yer toes. But he was a pirate and like I said, I ain't gonna suffer like me ma.

Somehow I was always the one who had ta serve 'im. Charming, he was. Arrogant. Pompous. Witty. Few short words and a compliment o' me auburn hair had me heart pulsin'. Said me hair had him thinkin' o' the fiery red coral reefs. To his amusement me name is Cora. I had ta talk meself outta his own sweet talk. He did it with me other comrades too. Perhaps I was just a young lass wit'out many real experiences and me head filled with too many o' his adventures memorized. Just like tha way tha voices and the sea made sense and the same time it didn't. Same was he.

Wadin' in tha water had me skin tingling once more. Tha moonlight caressed me face as I shut my eyes to softly wait and listen fer tha voices. Alone in the Atlantic and I began ta feel the presence o' me sisters. Scales brushed up against me knee, I heard the sweet songs. Shivers ran up me spine as I watched light glittering scales create patterns on my skin. The longer I stayed in tha water, the more me body adapted and turned me inta me kind.

"Maeve, follow," they whispered in that language I couldn't name.

I didn't need ta ask what I was bein' told ta follow. They showed me their thoughts and I felt the presence of the Sparrow. Me sisters urged me ta follow 'im.

Leaving a note fer Mr. Rory, I couldn't find it in meself to say it ta his face. He didn't know me secret and no one needed ta. Lord knows what they'd do ta me. Fate would have it tha' I was lucky enough ta barter passage on ship headed to Tortuga. Though it seemed ta make sense, everything moved in a blurred second.

I found meself in a crowded tavern serving drinks in a new venue.