Author's Note: Hello and welcome to Chapter Twenty-Three of "Rubicon". I am afraid this is a rather short chapter, but I promise the next one will definitely make up for it. I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read and those that reviewed, Kitty, ElfLuver13, Tiera-Tarie and Astraeas Dreams. Thank you all so much! I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

September 15, 1731

Dearest Diary,

There is misery in a life such as this, a life that waits only for death and nothing more. A life that faces the eternal darkness with resignation, not fear. A life that has been lived and now falls away like a dried up leave tugged by an unforgiving wind.

Doctor Hall tells me I am dying. He says my lungs are spent and my body is broken and I must make my peace with God. Am I foolish not to believe him?

I do not feel the coldness of death or pain. I am fatigued, yes, but nothing more. Each breath enters my lungs and leaves. Each star in the sky catches my eye.

But oh, do I wish to live on?

I think I must truly be weak, a woman who can be counted on for little. It is said that those of the fair sex are meant only to bear children and I have failed at such a task. My little babe, my little daughter, she did not even cry when Doctor Hall took her into his arms, oh, she was already dead.

I do not remember much of the birth and I am glad for it. There was pain, that I know and then Agnes' weeping as she told me the child was stillborn. And then there was Cutler, who came to my bedside only to draw away like a shadow. He has not returned since.

I wonder if he does not love me now, if he hates the wife who would die for him and probably shall. I miss him and wish for him. If only he were here to share my last tears!

But I am alone, lying upon my bed with only my diary and a quill pen. There must be a record of my last hours, if I am to die. Cutler must know that my last thoughts were of him and our young son and lifeless daughter.

News has come to me in my sanctuary. Agnes says Elizabeth Swann and the second woman, Tia Dalma will be hanged. Cutler has decreed it and the gallows stand silent in their vigil, waiting for the noose to swing and claim another victim. Governor Swann and Admiral Norrington have both tried to plea for Elizabeth's life. My husband will not relent, for he believes Elizabeth has murdered me though I live yet. I would go to him…and I would speak for the woman, at least to delay her death until I have learned the full of it. And I would learn of the other woman, so familiar she is to me.

Last night I slept and did not dream. And upon waking, I remembered the face that had so haunted me over the months, the voice that would whisper charms. Tia Dalma is the woman from my dreams, the wild-haired witch who drove her dagger into my throat and let the sea wash me away.

I do not fear her and I do not think she is altogether evil. There is some mystery in this yet. In fact, I should like to have a moment with the woman, to ask her if she had orchestrated my dreams for some dark purpose and what she meant by them. But now I suppose I shall never know.

It is night now and from the bed I can just see out the window. Agnes wished to draw the shutters and curtains, but I would not let her. I should like to see the moon and the ebony sky, for what dearer sight is there for one who now tastes mortality at last? A strange thing it is, this death. Young as I am I never anticipated it, even when illness crept over me and strangled my breath from me. And here now I stand, at my end. Or do I?

Poor Cutler. I feel that either way I have lost him. This place has destroyed him along with that cursed entity, that heart. Slowly, I watched him slip from me, as though we stood on a great precipice. But which one of us shall fall, I do not know. I love my husband and shall love him for the rest of eternity, even within the cold clay bower of my tomb.

I think of my son now and some horrible fear convinces me he will be an orphan. Will Cutler lose himself if I should die and neglect my dear child? Will my son reach maturity with none to guide him save lowly servants and the dim memory of his mother that once lived?

No, no, it is too much. Too much to think of and too much to bear.

There is a sound outside the window, something akin to a thunder clap. Agnes is not here and I can only see the very tip of the harbor. A flame and a flash covers the horizon. What could this be…?

My God, it is cannon fire. I am sure of it. And even as I write a black ship with black sails slinks into the harbor. I can see the line of naval ships and those belonging to the Company. So desperately they return the volley, but to no avail. Oh, what is this?

More ships, more sails…more pirate flags. Port Royal is under attack. Gunpowder fills the air and the stench is near unbearable. Have I died and come to Hell instead of Heaven?

I have called for Agnes and she has not come. The house is dreadfully quiet. Where is Doctor Hall? Where are the servants?

I must find Cutler….

Lady Anne Beckett