Hello and greetings unto all! Wow, I haven't actually written a fanfic in
forever. But it's finals week here at college, and I really don't want to
study, so here I am. That and the fact I just watched Pirates last night,
and I can't get Jack out of my head ^_^ Anyways, be patient with this, as
the plot's gonna take a little while to thicken. Other than that, enjoy!
Note: Sadly, I do not own Jack Sparrow, or the Pirates of the Caribbean, or Disney, or Disneyland (that would rock my socks). I am but a poor college student with a dwindling checking account and a crate of Top Ramen. Please don't sue me.
Without further ado...
Chapter One
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a land of
Ugh...
A long time ago, in a land forgotten to the ages, lived a maiden so fair it would break a man's heart to look upon her.
Arrrggghhh!
In a place not so far away, in a time close to now, there dwelled a hideous wench alone with her cats.
In a fury she ripped the third beginning from the leatherbound notebook and hurled it as hard as she could out the open window. The breeze off the sea kicked up and sent the gauzy drapes fluttering, as if it were a hungry monster begging for more treats.
"I can't keep this up," she muttered softly to herself, flipping to the front cover. "I only have so many new page beginnings left.
Here I finally find myself, forsaken to the sea. The richest treasure known to man is yielded now to thee.
Scratched in faded ink, red and reeking of ancient berries. Twenty words, no explanation had been her dogma for nineteen years of drifting aimlessly through life. The only thing she knew about them were that they were written by her mother. For nineteen years they floated around her head, an endless search for the meaning. True, they could be just a silly rhyme scrawled down for amusement. But why would she have asked, demanded with her dying breath, that they be entrusted to her? No, the woman hadn't been lacking in any sort of luxury. Any number of the diamond collars, emerald rings, or golden pendants that had long been frettered away or claimed by The Steps could have been mentioned. Yet this was what she'd treasured, what she'd left.
"The richest treasure known to man," Tabitha murmured, the words flowing off her tongue for the millionth time as she stared off into space. "Is yielded...now...to thee..."
"Ta-bi-THA!!!" The screech sent her jolting up from her chair, angry footsteps rocking the shells and scattered trinkets that decorated the sparse attic room. It was like a romantic story, the loathed daughter locked away in the attic, with only the gulls to keep her company. All right, perhaps it wasn't true. She had selected the third-floor room on purpose to avoid as much contact as possible with Devonny and Portia. They may have loathed her, but her father still doted upon her like a child, at least when he actually took leave from the sea to call Daemon's Pointe home. However, there truly wasn't any company worth keeping in Daemon's Pointe aside from the gulls. At least they got out once and a while. A heavy knock rattled the door, with such strength and ferocity the masses so underestimated in women.
"Come in, Devonny," she chirped sweetly, shoving the book under her matress. Her stepsister entered in a huff, half her corseted busom covered in white powder while the other flushed an unbecoming red.
"Where is it?"
"What?"
"Don't play stupid with me. You may be dumb, but you know what I'm talking about." The things these foolish men found attractive. Devonny's natural hair was confined into a flat nest upon her head, paving the way for an enormous white curled wig she'd insisted on importing from France. Her face was completely white with stark blood-painted lips and a puzzling black spot where a dimple or something of the less appaling sort could have been. Her icy blue eyes pierced everything she saw with greed and, at their best, apathy. And yet, every gentleman on the god-forsaken isle were falling all over themselves to have so much as a waltz with this creature! Every day more flowers, hat boxes, and jeweled trinkets were delivered to her chamber with attached notes of undying love that were discarded without a second glance. "The sapphire silk with the white lace bodice."
"You mean my sapphire silk with the white lace bodice. It belonged to my mother, not yours."
A smile curled across Devonny's faux lips, eminating a cruel sort of laughter as her eyes rolled back in exasperation. "Yes, well, your mother died and was replaced by my own fifteen years ago. I know you've never been one to keep up with the times, but nevertheless, it would be cruel to have her die in vain by wasting such a frock on a homey mouse."
Tabitha lifted her eyes to meet Devonny's, staring back with resolve of stone. "I understand your frustration, Devonny. It must be so distressing rummaging through your mother's closet, and finding nothing suitable. You see, unlike his first wife, your mother came into this house as a whore."
The frosty, confident glaze over Devonny's countenance shattered, and with a screech she lunged at Tabitha with all the force of a waifish girl strung up by a corset. The pair clattered to the floor in a violent ball of punches, hair pulls, and kicks. Devonny's sharp nails clawed at Tabitha's throat as she yanked her corset strings as hard as she could.
"Girls, GIRLS!!!" An angry voice screamed from up above as hands pried them apart. Portia took her daughter into her arms, glaring over at her despised step-relation. "And what would this be about?"
"Tabitha won't let me borrow her dress," she pouted, standing up with her arms crossed defensively across her chest. "She's not even going to La Danse de la Brume, but she still proceeded to fight me like a savage over it!"
Portia squared herself directly in front of her, towering at a height reserved normally for the tallest of men. Her ragged ringlets were a sickening sort of yellow, like something bright and shimmery left in the sun's light for much too long. Lines ran like rivers into the valleys of her face, painted over and over again by smelly concoctions recommended by the ill-preserved town druggist. She reminded her of an old cat, scrawny and passed up yet still exploiting its tumultuous nine lives to wreak misery into whatever lesser creature crossed its path. Without a moment's hesitation her gnarled hand reeled back, and smartly drew itself across Tabitha's face.
She reeled back, clutching her tender skin as it began to swell. "Where is it?" She demanded, advancing once more.
"It is not yours, and it is not your daughter's! It is mine, and I will choose whether it will adorn your little harlot or not. You can't scare me," she affirmed, straightening her shoulders and glaring into the cold heart of her nemesis. "I'm my father's flesh and blood, and you are nothing but an inexpensive diversion! The only reason I fail to entertain him with the tales of your cruelty is because unlike you, I actually do care about his frail heart. I will go to La Danse de la Brume, and I will go in whichever of my properties I choose. Devonny can go in rags, for all I care."
"Are you quite sure?" She glanced aside to see Devonny perched near the window, holding the leather book between her thumb and forefinger, much too dangerously close to the open space for comfort. In spite of herself she gasped, held back by her stepmother's unusually strong arms.
"How dare you even touch that!!" Tabitha screamed, unable to hide the genuine fear in her voice. "Put it back!!!"
"Oh you'll have it back at the end of our lovely evening," she said as she tucked the thin book within the confines of her bosom. "Now where is the dress?"
Quaking with anger and abhorrence she slunk over to the sea trunk, undid the lock, and retrieved the paper-wrapped gown from its home. Devonny snatched it out of her hands with complete lack of reverence, sauntering smugly out of the room. Portia followed, stealing one challenging glance back.
Once there were two of the ugliest women who lived underneath a treasure they would never, in a thousand years, comprehend. And they both died, at the same wretched moment, in a way so horrid I have yet to imagine it.
Note: Sadly, I do not own Jack Sparrow, or the Pirates of the Caribbean, or Disney, or Disneyland (that would rock my socks). I am but a poor college student with a dwindling checking account and a crate of Top Ramen. Please don't sue me.
Without further ado...
Chapter One
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a land of
Ugh...
A long time ago, in a land forgotten to the ages, lived a maiden so fair it would break a man's heart to look upon her.
Arrrggghhh!
In a place not so far away, in a time close to now, there dwelled a hideous wench alone with her cats.
In a fury she ripped the third beginning from the leatherbound notebook and hurled it as hard as she could out the open window. The breeze off the sea kicked up and sent the gauzy drapes fluttering, as if it were a hungry monster begging for more treats.
"I can't keep this up," she muttered softly to herself, flipping to the front cover. "I only have so many new page beginnings left.
Here I finally find myself, forsaken to the sea. The richest treasure known to man is yielded now to thee.
Scratched in faded ink, red and reeking of ancient berries. Twenty words, no explanation had been her dogma for nineteen years of drifting aimlessly through life. The only thing she knew about them were that they were written by her mother. For nineteen years they floated around her head, an endless search for the meaning. True, they could be just a silly rhyme scrawled down for amusement. But why would she have asked, demanded with her dying breath, that they be entrusted to her? No, the woman hadn't been lacking in any sort of luxury. Any number of the diamond collars, emerald rings, or golden pendants that had long been frettered away or claimed by The Steps could have been mentioned. Yet this was what she'd treasured, what she'd left.
"The richest treasure known to man," Tabitha murmured, the words flowing off her tongue for the millionth time as she stared off into space. "Is yielded...now...to thee..."
"Ta-bi-THA!!!" The screech sent her jolting up from her chair, angry footsteps rocking the shells and scattered trinkets that decorated the sparse attic room. It was like a romantic story, the loathed daughter locked away in the attic, with only the gulls to keep her company. All right, perhaps it wasn't true. She had selected the third-floor room on purpose to avoid as much contact as possible with Devonny and Portia. They may have loathed her, but her father still doted upon her like a child, at least when he actually took leave from the sea to call Daemon's Pointe home. However, there truly wasn't any company worth keeping in Daemon's Pointe aside from the gulls. At least they got out once and a while. A heavy knock rattled the door, with such strength and ferocity the masses so underestimated in women.
"Come in, Devonny," she chirped sweetly, shoving the book under her matress. Her stepsister entered in a huff, half her corseted busom covered in white powder while the other flushed an unbecoming red.
"Where is it?"
"What?"
"Don't play stupid with me. You may be dumb, but you know what I'm talking about." The things these foolish men found attractive. Devonny's natural hair was confined into a flat nest upon her head, paving the way for an enormous white curled wig she'd insisted on importing from France. Her face was completely white with stark blood-painted lips and a puzzling black spot where a dimple or something of the less appaling sort could have been. Her icy blue eyes pierced everything she saw with greed and, at their best, apathy. And yet, every gentleman on the god-forsaken isle were falling all over themselves to have so much as a waltz with this creature! Every day more flowers, hat boxes, and jeweled trinkets were delivered to her chamber with attached notes of undying love that were discarded without a second glance. "The sapphire silk with the white lace bodice."
"You mean my sapphire silk with the white lace bodice. It belonged to my mother, not yours."
A smile curled across Devonny's faux lips, eminating a cruel sort of laughter as her eyes rolled back in exasperation. "Yes, well, your mother died and was replaced by my own fifteen years ago. I know you've never been one to keep up with the times, but nevertheless, it would be cruel to have her die in vain by wasting such a frock on a homey mouse."
Tabitha lifted her eyes to meet Devonny's, staring back with resolve of stone. "I understand your frustration, Devonny. It must be so distressing rummaging through your mother's closet, and finding nothing suitable. You see, unlike his first wife, your mother came into this house as a whore."
The frosty, confident glaze over Devonny's countenance shattered, and with a screech she lunged at Tabitha with all the force of a waifish girl strung up by a corset. The pair clattered to the floor in a violent ball of punches, hair pulls, and kicks. Devonny's sharp nails clawed at Tabitha's throat as she yanked her corset strings as hard as she could.
"Girls, GIRLS!!!" An angry voice screamed from up above as hands pried them apart. Portia took her daughter into her arms, glaring over at her despised step-relation. "And what would this be about?"
"Tabitha won't let me borrow her dress," she pouted, standing up with her arms crossed defensively across her chest. "She's not even going to La Danse de la Brume, but she still proceeded to fight me like a savage over it!"
Portia squared herself directly in front of her, towering at a height reserved normally for the tallest of men. Her ragged ringlets were a sickening sort of yellow, like something bright and shimmery left in the sun's light for much too long. Lines ran like rivers into the valleys of her face, painted over and over again by smelly concoctions recommended by the ill-preserved town druggist. She reminded her of an old cat, scrawny and passed up yet still exploiting its tumultuous nine lives to wreak misery into whatever lesser creature crossed its path. Without a moment's hesitation her gnarled hand reeled back, and smartly drew itself across Tabitha's face.
She reeled back, clutching her tender skin as it began to swell. "Where is it?" She demanded, advancing once more.
"It is not yours, and it is not your daughter's! It is mine, and I will choose whether it will adorn your little harlot or not. You can't scare me," she affirmed, straightening her shoulders and glaring into the cold heart of her nemesis. "I'm my father's flesh and blood, and you are nothing but an inexpensive diversion! The only reason I fail to entertain him with the tales of your cruelty is because unlike you, I actually do care about his frail heart. I will go to La Danse de la Brume, and I will go in whichever of my properties I choose. Devonny can go in rags, for all I care."
"Are you quite sure?" She glanced aside to see Devonny perched near the window, holding the leather book between her thumb and forefinger, much too dangerously close to the open space for comfort. In spite of herself she gasped, held back by her stepmother's unusually strong arms.
"How dare you even touch that!!" Tabitha screamed, unable to hide the genuine fear in her voice. "Put it back!!!"
"Oh you'll have it back at the end of our lovely evening," she said as she tucked the thin book within the confines of her bosom. "Now where is the dress?"
Quaking with anger and abhorrence she slunk over to the sea trunk, undid the lock, and retrieved the paper-wrapped gown from its home. Devonny snatched it out of her hands with complete lack of reverence, sauntering smugly out of the room. Portia followed, stealing one challenging glance back.
Once there were two of the ugliest women who lived underneath a treasure they would never, in a thousand years, comprehend. And they both died, at the same wretched moment, in a way so horrid I have yet to imagine it.