Disclaimer: I in no shape, way, and/or form own Pirates of the Carribean or its characters. Kind of ironic though, because I started writing this right after DMC came out and put !!!SPOILER!!!! Will and Elizabeth having a son in it. Haha...
A/N: Ok...so I started writing this story right after (as previously stated) DMC came out and then I re-wrote it on here it once and now I've done it again. I' hoping it will stick this time. I'll actually have time now since it's SUMMER! The story was formally "Thirteen Years" and "A Legacy Forced." I think I have my thoughts in order enough to keep it going. lol. Now, I know this story is OC and the whole Jack having a daughter thing has been done countless times, but !.!.!.!.Spolier for AWE.!.!.!.!.! it does include Will and Elizabeth's son, though he is not the focal point of the story. Story will contain other AWE spoilers. I appreciate reviews and constructive criticism. I'd also like to know what you think of my writing style and things like that.
Now please, give it a chance and ENJOY.
-Ragdoll17
On the Edge
Prologue
Thunder shook the ground and lightning crashed through the black night as she sat outside the doorway of the library, seven years old, and afraid. It was not the storm outside she feared, oh no. That storm she welcomed. It was the storm brewing in the room behind the door that terrified her.
Looking through the keyhole, she could see the last smoldering coals of a fire in the big hearth. This was the only source that illuminated the library, throwing everything else into shadows…including the two people standing in a corner near one of the towering bookshelves.
The voices coming from them were an attempted hush, one male and one female and speaking in such rapid Spanish she could hardly understand what they were saying.
He was angry, more angry then she had ever seen him in her short life and she saw the woman, her normally hot-tempered mother, slightly cowering away, into the shadows. The man said something, a little louder this time and she slapped him. A mistake.
The next few seconds became a blur to the small child, with no noise to accompany her fear but the raging storm. The gunshot that rang through the room wouldn't register until years later. She watched still as the woman made a small whimper and fell gracefully to the floor. She did not move. The man then began to slowly make his way towards the door, the pistol still smoking in his hand.
Seeing this, she ran terrified, as fast as she could back to her bedroom. Drunken footsteps echoed outside her door just as she latched the doors of her wardrobe, burying behind the gowns that hung there. The bedroom door creaked open and she froze, barley daring to breathe, a single tear running from dark eyes down her cheek.
The strong smell of whiskey wafted into the closet as he searched the room for her. He neared the wardrobe once, twice, and a third time, but he never opened it. He left the room a few moments later, clearly angrier then before and shouting in slurred Spanish. She still dared not move.
After what seemed like hours, another person came into her bedroom. This one was a small older lady, with graying, once coal black hair, kind eyes and a soft voice; her governess. The lady went silently over to the closet, knowing that's where the child had to be.
She pulled her out of the wardrobe and held her close. The small child trembled, but the governess whispered to her she to be strong.
A folded up, hastily finished letter from the deceased woman was tucked into the governess' pocket with the word "Jack" written neatly on the front. With what few hurriedly collected things they could carry on horseback, the child and her governess fled silently from the house and into the stormy night.