We're in the middle of revising this story, since we haven't written on it forever. Please enjoy!
Prologue: Coincidences
Young Lady Barbarella Dolores Biskaya Turner stood at her mother's grave, shedding a single tear as the rain fell heavily on her umbrella. Next to her, her father the guild master knelt with a hand on the ground, his face drawn with grief, but shedding no tears. He didn't even notice her, so lost was he in his sorrow.
Lifting her dress in one pale, delicate hand she walked away from him and towards the shore below the graveyard. She meant no disrespect towards her mother, the beautiful and too young Elizabeth Turner, but the hard stone in the cold graveyard had nothing to do with her mother. Her mother had been wild and free, like Doll longed to be. Free like the ocean.
She walked along the sandy beach, sighing raggedly. She walked out on a small point and looked into the still water. The rain was clearing up, and she could see her reflection in the water.
Long, brown hair in fine ringlets framed a face that was pale from spending too much time indoors, but it only accentuated her deep brown eyes. Her father had used to say she was beautiful, but that was before... She shook it off. Unlike her father, she was trying to move on... She looked up, and suddenly noticed a figure lying on the beach a little away.
"Oh no!" she gasped, "it must be a poor sailor who has drowned! But maybe he is alive... maybe he is handsome. Oh, I have to save him!" She ran along the beach and finally knelt by the body, which seemed far too small to be a sailor. Putting down her umbrella she started pulling and pushing the body until she could roll it over. She gasped as she saw the face of a young girl, no older than herself. Even though her hair was messy and her clothes torn, Dolores could tell that she was very pretty - and very alive!
"Father! Father!" Dolores shouted, starting to run up from the beach. Despite her delicate appearance, she could run fast and was stronger than most girls. Her father had used to call her "my little pirate". She never understood why. Pirates were horrible, weren't they?
"What is it, Doll?" he answered distantly, standing up from where he was kneeling by the grave.
"A girl, father! Down at the beach! She's almost drowned!"
As the seriousness of the situation dawned on Will Turner, he called for the coachman, and all three ran down to the beach. They carried the girl up to the carriage, and started to drive home.
"Oh father, do you think she'll make it?" Doll said in a scared voice. "She looks so pure and innocent... she won't die, will she?"
"I think she has fought harder battles," her father said grimly; the girl was lying with her head in his lap.
"Whatever do you mean?"
Her father pulled the torn sleeve of the girl's shirt aside, uncovering a scar shaped like a P. Doll gasped, all her blood rushing to her head. Oh no, it couldn't be...
"A pirate!" she whispered.