James Delaney sits at the end of the dock, legs dangling with the soles of his boots just skimming the top of the water. It would be a charming sight, with the reflection of the full moon dancing in the calm waters and the soft glow of lanterns lining the docks surrounding him. There is the distant sound of voices echoing across the water and the sound of an oar splashing in a gentle rhythm. The breeze was soft and fair, cool but not cold. It is a lovely night to be out, but he wasn't noticing any of it as his mind was occupied with the ghost of his mother.

For so long had her painted face haunted him, both in dreams and in waking hours. Her spirit wasn't quite like the others. Salish didn't sing to him like they did. She hissed and she spat and she both excited and terrified him. The spirit of his mother had always mystified James Delaney, and he had always failed to admit, even to himself, that something about her left him feeling more cold and alone and scared in a way he didn't think possible, considering he almost proudly defined himself as cold and alone, though he thought he had little left to be scared of at this point. When in control of the visions of her though, James found a profound strength and pride in the spirit of his mother and the culture of her people. It is this strength in his mother's roots that guided him forth in the journey ahead, however damned it may be.

It was Brace's words that made him doubt the strength of those roots, and the butler's story made them feel nothing but tainted.

He'd always believed Salish to be the victim. The beautiful "savage", a young and innocent woman whisked away to a foreign land and locked in a cage much like Ms. Bowe's unfortunate canary. She was something akin to a goddess to James, a deity that represented both power and freedom, and he siphoned her power to gain the very freedom that had stolen from her.

Brace had introduced the idea that it wasn't simply power that he had inherited from his mother, but her madness. Had he really almost died at the hands of his own beloved mother, the dear Salish? Of all the betrayals he'd suffered, this was the one that hurt the most. For once, his visions of her felt less mystical in nature and nothing more than burdensome nightmares and the crazed hallucinations of a purpose did he have now, what did he have left at all, if he didn't really have her?

The idea also gave new weight to the words so maliciously and fearfully spat at him since his return form the ends of the Earth. They weren't particularly new ideas, he'd never quite belonged in his country of birth nor did he ever desire to anyway. But if his mother was nothing more than a mad woman, hissing and spitting like a beast and resorting to the treachery of infanticide, then perhaps the others were right.

They call him a monster.

Savage.

An abomination.

The sound of footsteps startle him out of his thoughts, even soft as they are, and he turns to see a familiar but young face. Too young and innocent to be out alone at this time.

"Go away, Winter." He says after looking back down at the claw he's been absentmindedly fiddling with.

"I'm not scared of you." Her tone is nonchalant, and the girl is apparently comfortable enough to slouch down near him.

James wasn't sure whether to correct her reasoning or thank her for her declaration.

He turns and for a brief moment quietly studies her with the same wild eyes that most others saw full of nothing more than a deep and unsettling madness.

For Winter however, she felt she could see beyond the hard and apparently cold exterior of "The Devil" James Delaney, and even further. The sight of her youthful but wise eyes could surpass the violent ambition of the supposed madman and what seemed to be a deep-seeded guilt. While it might not be an ideal condition for a child to be raised in, growing up in a whore house had at least given Winter a very special kind of intuition when it can to discerning the true character of a person. James must indeed be no exception to this.

"What are you scared of?" He wonders aloud.

"Of who they say you are… the African Devil."

Something about this statement strikes a chord in him and compels him to rise from his spot at the end of the dock and move to kneel in front of the adolescent.

There is something about this girl that nags at him and he can't seem to put his finger on it. They lock eyes for a moment as he considers her. He can see stubbornness in Winter, but aside from that, the child's face may as well be a stone wall. On the exterior, she's impossible to read, but he can sense a purity and strength in her that rivals anything he's ever seen. What is it about this girl that feels so…. Familiar?

He finally speaks, but while the words seem to be directed at her, they are not for her as they are in Ashanti Twi.

"Spirit…. Are you with her?" He asks in the West African language, voice low and raspy.

A slight shift in Winter's usually placid expression almost surprises him and he begins to feel the sinking feeling of loneliness once more. The foreign words are lost on her.

"Stop staring, you're scaring me." She says in a smaller voice than he's ever heard from her.

'He's scared of you.'

Cholmondeley's voice echoes in his head.

'Everyone's always scared of you'

And then he recognizes it for the first time in Winter's chocolate brown eyes. Doubt. Fear.

He suddenly can't stand the look she's giving him and he straightens so he can turn away form it. James felt for the first time that he might understand his father's reasoning for locking Salish away, though his bitterness over it will never subside. Perhaps Winter would be best to stay clear of his monstrosity.

"Go home to your mother. Helga loves you, you're safe there…. Go to sleep." He settles on dismissing the girl.

She deserves better than himself, and sadly, even Helga can give her more warmth than his own mother could have mustered. Helga is flawed, but she at least knows how to give love to her child.

"All will be well. Go." He says, suddenly longing to give the girl the very little bit of comfort he can manage.

James relaxes a little when he finally hears her rise and the sound of her soft foot steps fading away back up the dock.

One half of him accepts his own madness and this "monster" he had become without shame. This is what he is no matter how he is perceived by others and the easiest way to deal with it is to give into it wholly and fuck the rest. He's rarely ever had any qualms about the expectations and judgments of others and has zero capacity for them now. Regarding his dear half-sister, love is love no matter where it falls, especially when there is so little love left in the world and hell is all that surrounds you. And on the topic of survival, he's only done what was needed for it. If such things make him a monster, then a raging one he must be.

The other half despises himself for it all. For being that devil. For being human. For being weak. He could blame superior orders for entombing those souls on the Cornwallis, but they were his hands that drove those nails into the damned ship. He now sought the freedom that they so deserved and that he had played a such a tragic part in taking from them.

There are times he believes their souls guide him toward that freedom. They come to him seeking a vessel to experience what was lost to them. Other days he believes his continued existence is punishment for his unforgivable sin, and beyond that, he believes his existence itself is a sin.

Perhaps Salish knew the Devil he would become and had tried to save the world from him. Or maybe she was trying to shelter him from a tragic existence in this hell.