She ran, gathering her skirts around her so as not to fall on the dampened cobblestone path. Her breaths were heavy - as well as her heart - as she made her escape. She spotted the docks ahead, as the darkened ship awaited departure. The stars shone brilliantly in the deepened sky, and the moon cast beams that turned the surface of the sea into flashes of fleeting silver. She ducked beneath behind a barrel, waiting patiently for a moment to steal aboard. She heard voices. Men. Peeking from around the wooden barrel, she brushed aside a long wet strand of her curls. Pirates. An involuntary chill ran down her spine. She had been warned about them. Spawn of the Devil himself, they had been called. But now they had begun to look more like her saviors.

There was not a moment that her heart did not cease to pound. She was risking everything. Everything that she had been raised in, everything she had grown to despise with every breath of her body. She lifted her brown face up to the sky, closed her eyes, and gave a shaky, uncertain exhale, face illuminated by the calmness of the moon.

The voices had faded, and the lights had dimmed, except for one which twinkled with surprising intensity. She crouched low, watching… waiting for it to fade along with the others. After what seemed like years, it was extinguished, and she let out a breath she did not realize she was holding. It was time. She stood, and stole across the humid air, not caring what she left behind, and scared of what she would come to find ahead…

Capítulo Uno

He sat in the darkness of the smoky tavern, drinking rum and listening to the unusual hush of the crowd. He cocked his hat over his eyes, waiting for what, he wasn't sure. The small tavern was crowded, packed to the brim, and all eyes were eagerly faced forward as music began to play.

She emerged from the shadows, gently swaying her hips, barefoot and moving to the beat. Her back was turned to the crowd, but she knew all eyes were on her. Her snakelike movements and petite form caused many of the men to have lustful thoughts, but she had no room in her heart for any of her suitors. She twirled and clapped her hands in time to the exotic beat, shaking her hips and shimmying the beadwork of her top in the faces of those that yearned so eagerly for her.

Her face was covered by a black sash that deepened the intensity of her brooding eyes. He watched her, entranced, and wondered when he could get her alone. There was much he needed to say in little time.

They called her "La Perla Negra" – the Spanish gypsy with a soulful voice and an exotic flair that none other possessed. She was young yet seductive, with deep brown eyes the color of melted chocolate and dark curls that cascaded in waves over her bronzed shoulders. She was never in one place for long, yet the place she spent the most time in was Tortuga, dancing for small change and reading palms and telling fortunes for those who bothered to wonder about the future. She was the main attraction for any watering hole on the island… everyone competed to have her grace their business with her beauty, elegance and mysterious ways.

She left in a wild cloud of smoke, and the crowd erupted in hoots and hollers, men crying out for an encore… but she gathered the gold coins that they had tossed to the floor and left without granting them one. The man at the table followed her with his brown eyes and then stood, watching the smoke fade in gray curls in the air, and decided to follow her. He knew where she stayed from the previous nights he had waited until she emerged from the tavern. But he couldn't wait for her to leave. He was going to find her now.

She heard footsteps behind her, but she didn't bother to turn to see who they belonged to. They had heard stories, all of them, and knew she wasn't a force to be reckoned with. So she wasn't afraid.

She scurried up the stairs to a tiny room and slammed the door behind her, locking it and collapsing in front of a mirror. The gypsy pulled the black sash from her face and stared at her reflection, shadows wavering on her face due to the lit candles that adorned her cramped quarters.

There was pounding on the door and she turned, curls bouncing, to face it. Her eyes met the harsh wood of the doorframe, and she wished that she could see through it… but she knew there was no need. She sensed his presence the moment he had stepped inside the tavern. Something inside her ignited.

She hesitated, then pulled up her right sleeve, caressing the "P" that had been scorched into her skin above her wrist a few years back. Suddenly angry, she grabbed a gleaming sword off the wall and kicked the door open, eyes blazing with an untold fury. She pointed the sword at the heart of her visitor.

"Well I do thank you for such a warm welcome," he began, placing his hands slowly in the air. Furious, she raised the blade directly under his chin and narrowed her eyes. "Jack Sparrow," she spewed, spitting out his name as if it were a vile poison. "Dulcinea," he responded, cooing her own, his voice contrasting with the hatred in her own. "My little black pearl."

Relentless, she pressed harder into his skin, filled with fury but somehow, her heart had been softened.

"Dulce, I need your help. Sit down and put that bloody sword away. We need to talk and I don't have much time." He pushed the sword away and it fell clattering to the ground as he took a seat behind her crystal ball, gazing into it wistfully. Hands shaking, the fury that had hardened her heart returned. How could she ever forgive him after what he had done to her!