No, I say, I will not let you kill the baby.

You have only got to tell us that the father is Will, my father says, and he will marry you and the child will not be a bastard. Do you want your child to be a bastard?

It is cruel, these words that spill from his mouth. It is testimony indeed to my father's anger at this, that he should use such vulgar, uncouth language.

I cry.

The nausea sets in, and most mornings I vomit ceaselessly. My breasts are fuller and tender to the touch. But most of all, my belly grows larger by the day. My father's hope that I was not with child and simply had 'false pregnancy', as it is called, have evaporated.

I cry.

Ever since my belly waxed and it was impossible to fit into my old dresses, my father has kept me at home, though I don't much care. After all, I do not want anyone to see me in this state.

But it is lonely, this division from others, this division of my sins.

It was only the once, I say, and I was not myself.

Only the once, and the people speak behind my back. The Governor's daughter, they say, cavorting around with pirates. Become a pirate's wench and a pirate's whore, with a pirate's brat in her belly, and nothing better than a slut and a harlot.

For people talk, you know; they talk until the once has become twice, and the rumours are told and retold until the respectable lady has become a strumpet who sells herself at nights, and the brat in her belly is not the first, nor the second, but the third.

The father, Elizabeth, my father pleads, the father?

It is not Will's baby. Will Turner, who tried to see me and was turned away after being told. Will Turner, who left without a word. After my monthly courses did not run and I knew; knew that my one night of utter foolishness and bliss had turned me into a loose woman; loose and vulgar and sinful.

I cry.

It was the rum, nothing but the rum. The poisoned rum, which poisoned me with its heavy light-headedness.

It was the waves and the loneliness and the rum; nothing but the rum. And it was revenge I took, oh yes, for the rum had been fell and harsh and brutal in its poisoning, and it was the poison that I tried to suck out and burn. I tried so hard to burn the sins out; tried so hard to forget.

You wanted it, Lizzie, he drawled in that strange, oddly rough accent which I was never able to place, did I not tell you that one day you wouldn't be able to resist? That curiosity, love, is the one thing on this earth which people cannot possibly resist?'

And I couldn't. I was too weak, too human, to resist. And who could resist? Jack Sparrow, with his dark, dark eyes, Jack Sparrow, of the braided, beaded hair. Jack Sparrow, with his pirate's ways. Captain Jack Sparrow, living by his own laws. Jack Sparrow, who I associated with freedom and rebellion, and now associate with naught but sweet, intoxicating, forbidden pleasure and sins. And freedom.

Lust, and love.

I cry.

My belly grows larger with each and every passing day. The servants avoid me; avoid having to see their mistress, once sought after by Commodores and blacksmiths alike, humbled to this, restrained to her own house and disgraced by her father.

Their mistress, who wanted to know what it tasted like, who couldn't resist temptation.

Their mistress, who was naught but human in her sins.

Miss, the young maids say in hushed whispers, for fear that others will hear them, was it painful, like? For others say it hurts, the first time you do 'it', that it's God's punishment for women.

It was only the once that I did 'it', I say.

They don't believe me. The gossip is juicier; the Governor's daughter with a pirate.

But it neither hurt nor was it painful; it was gentle, and brought a sweet release.

I cry.

And then one day I go to my rooms and Will Turner is sitting there; dear, sweet Will who was my first love.

Who was it, Elizabeth?

And I try. I try so hard to tell him the truth.

But I can't.

And as much as I would like to blame it on not wanting to hurt this man who loves me, it is not the truth.

It is nothing but fear and cowardice.

And he leaves again, the second time he has left me without saying a word.

Then we have nothing more to say to each other, Elizabeth.

I cry.

The pains begin, deep in my stomach and burning in their intensity. My father gives me medicines to stop the pain, but I can see his disgust.

Rum is the best way to drown the sorrows, 'Izzy, why do you think I drink so much?

I remember, and vow that I will never touch rum again.

I cry.

And then, one day, the babe is born, delivered into my arms as I pushed and screamed in delirious pain.

The babe is Sparrow's, isn't it? my father says flatly.

The child's eyes are dark; wide and dark and splendid in their beauty.

They are Jack's eyes.

The baby has my hair and his eyes. It is plain to all who see whose the baby is, and the maids gossip.

But the child is the only thing I have of the two of us, and I will never let her go.

They are Jack's eyes.

I cry.

The next morning I wake up, and my child is not at my side. I scream in rage and despair.

What's wrong, Lizze? What's wrong?

I look up, and the babe is in Jack's arms.

Come back to the Pearl and the sea, Elizabeth, love.

And I leave, leave the father who no longer recognises me as a daughter, leave the servants and maids and butlers who no longer respect me, leave the man I once loved who loves me no longer, leave Port Royal which no longer appeals to me.

I leave to the open sea, and the call of love and freedom.

And for the first time in a long time, I do not cry.

A/N: Drop by and leave a review! (BTW, I have two other PoTC fics, of which I believe they are my BEST WORKS EVER). Go read!