A/N: So my local cheap movie theatre just ran a three week promotion for summer of airing the POTC films. I saw COTBP, which I didn't see in theatres when it came out (I was too afraid of it when it came out. Actually, fun fact, I was afraid of this film for years, and then I was on a Greyhound bus and my only entertainment was the movie they were showing, COTBP, so I was forced to watch it and fell in love with it.) and I am so psyched to finish writing COTBP! Only a few chapters left!
Counterintuitively, I had to cut this chapter in half, so we're still the same number of chapters away from the end of COTBP as we were when I started to write this chapter.
Also I spent away too long studying the single shot of the moon shown on the night of the raid and comparing it to a moon chart of the year 1739 to determine what day I was going to have set the raid on. The things I do for throwaway lines. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to figure out how long it would take for a letter to travel from Jamaica to Antigua in the 1700s to determine if Elizabeth's Uncle Simon would know yet she would home safe.
Explicit version on AO3. Censored on FFN.
Birds of a Feather
The Curse of the Black Pearl
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The Morning After
Syrena had the dream again. It was the same as always: that odd flash of the future unknown.
It wasn't unusual for mermaids to have the gift of what they called Foresight. Sure, a Red Tail getting it did not happen often, but it was often enough that none of her Sisters had been too surprised to hear she had the gift.
Foresight was a rather straight forward phenomenon: Mermaids were restless sleepers and did not dream unless it was some portend of things to come. The scene of the next man they would mate their next offspring with. A hurricane that would bring a veritable feast to their doorstep. Once Tamara had even had a vision of a monster of a man with a cursed ship bringing death to their cove and flame to the old lighthouse. The night Tamara shared that dream, Syrena had her own vision of a net entrapping her and that monster of a man telling another Well done, sailor.
It had been so many years since she thought of that vision. Syrena wouldn't have been able to pick out the faces of those men had one even been her own husband.
Her particular brand of Foresight wasn't very strong, she had been led to believe. Usually just a flash of an object. An oddly shaped crab. An enormous wheel spinning through a jungle. A man of barnacles fused to a wall. They were images too vague to understand and too fleeting to try.
She didn't speak of her gift to any of the humans in her life because that was a secret of the mermaids she would not betray. And with good reason, her Sisters had explained to her. Once someone heard that a mermaid could see the future, that was all a mermaid was expected to do: act as a personal Cassandra. When tragedy struck, they would be blamed for not warning of the events, of not preventing them, or worse yet wanting that tragedy to occur.
Besides, it didn't matter much. As the nature of dreams went, the images would quickly fade from the mind. She didn't remember most of what she had dreamed over the years: the green flash in the sky, the handkerchief with seven smears of blood, the skeletons of mermaids bound in a pool, the bride weeping in the rain, the groom with a sword through his heart.
But there was one dreamed that lingered. That odd dream that had haunted her from the day she was born.
Wood creaked beneath her feet and the smell of salt and blood was on the air. A loud heartbeat pounded in her ears, calling to her. Darkness surrounded her, clawing at her chest.
She was on a ship of ghosts, the sails ragged and rotting from the lines. Barnacles and sea life encrusted every surface. Faces of the desperate and damned lined the walls, forever faded from life into their very work. The wails of the dying crashed with every wave and craven arms reached up from the water, begging for liberation.
It was wrong, every sense of her screamed. This was not how it was supposed to be.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The beating of a corrupted heart pounded like a drum. She had to do something. She had to change this. She had to bring him here.
But who?
Then the blade pierced the heart and a woman's scream sung on the air.
A green flash blinded Syrena and she hissed, eyes slamming shut and hands going up defensively to protect herself.
When she opened her eyes, the world had changed. The ship was clean, the sun restored, and the dead brought to peace.
By him. By the Ferryman.
By the man who stood at the helm.
A touch of destiny.
His back was to her, but he was strong, proud, and heroic.
Who was he?
She did what she did every time the dream came to her. Syrena walked forward towards the helm, fear filling her veins and a hand outstretched.
"Ferryman," she called out. "Show yourself to me."
Slowly, the man turned around, the shadows disappearing as his head rotated and revealed the visage of-
"Syrena?"
Her eyes flew open, and the dream was gone. Gone like always before the man could show her his face. Except this time, it was different… this time she knew something she had never known before.
The man was no stranger.
But who was he?
"Syrena?" the concerned voice drew her attention again. It was Philip, lying at her side in the large bed they now shared, looking down at her with a furrowed brow. "Are you alright?"
The sunlight was drifting through the large window and fresh Caribbean air sung its salty song. They were cuddled up together in the thin blanket Philip had pulled over them when sleep had started creeping towards them. The bed was soft and probably could have comfortably fit another two or three people in it. A mountain of pillows buffered the headboard, but Syrena liked best of all the comfort of Philip's body tangled up in hers.
"Yes," she warily sat up. The fog of forgetfulness stole those fleeting images from her mind, and now she lay with the consciousness of the day. "Yes, I am fine."
"Oh good," Philip smiled so wonderfully at her. "You seemed restless, and I thought something was wrong."
"Just restless to start my first day as your wife."
The term made the corner of Philip's lips lift but just as soon fall. She watched his eyes trail over their bodies and the thin long shirts that covered them up.
His brows creased as he remembered when the stiff wedding clothing had become too uncomfortable and he had climbed out of bed to change into his nightwear behind the changing screen. He had laughed her off when she asked if she could watch him change, but after he emerged from the screen to see the disappointed and chastened look on her face, he realized she had been serious.
Philip looked over at the bedside table, and his heart fell further. At some time in the morning, a maid had entered the room and left a ceramic pot of warm water and matching basin with a fluffy thick cloth. No doubt it was a gesture to help Syrena clean up from the previous night. A gesture that was unnecessary.
"I'm sorry that I could not perform last night," Philip whispered in shame.
"There is no need for apologies," Syrena reminded. "We may not have consummated our marriage, but that does not mean nothing occurred last night."
Philip blushed, "Yes, well, I'm not sure it hardly counts-"
"Oh, it counted alright. What you did do, you performed well. I look very much forward to the day when you are ready for more. If last night hardly counted, I am completely unprepared for what does."
His face reddened more, and he looked both embarrassed and pleased as he could barely meet her eye in memory of what had occurred the previous night. Suddenly the fabric of his long shirt felt heavy upon his body. What would it be like for Syrena's delicate hands to pull it over his head and he reveal the handsome form that was his to offer her for the rest of their days? After all, he had seen her body and wasn't turnabout fair play?
Tenderly Syrena reached out a hand along his jaw and pulled him in for a soft kiss. It was lazy and undemanding, just a sweet and simple action of love. She sighed when he eventually pulled apart from her. Syrena comfortably settled back in the nest of pillows they shared, feeling as content as a queen.
"I could get used to this," Syrena smiled up at her husband.
Philip chuckled, "I hope you do."
He bent down and kissed her again. Her hands wove through his loose hair, the brunette locks hanging down like a curtain on his shoulders. Syrena had never really noticed the curl to his hair, it always being tied back in a tail. She did not think she would like to see him with his hair down regularly, but she liked the idea of when they were alone in their bedroom being the only one to ever see and play with his loose hair.
Their lips eventually parted, but that was replaced with bowed foreheads and deep stares into the other's eyes.
"Did my restlessness wake you?" Syrena murmured as Philip stroked her cheek with his thumb.
"No, I am an early riser," Philip's eyes lingered over the softness of her skin. "Were you awake long? You could have woken me up."
"I liked watching you sleep," Philip said. "The peacefulness on your face, the slow steady breath, the way you curled into my embrace. Now I know what Adam felt like when he woke from his slumber to find the perfect form of Eve beside him."
Syrena snuggled her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, "Let us stay in bed all morning. I just want to lay here and hold you."
Philip chuckled and kissed the crown of her head, "Unfortunately, we cannot."
"Why not?"
"Because it is Sunday, My Love. I have duties at church to fulfill." He gave her one last kiss and then pushed the sheets aside and crawled out of bed.
"Fine," she gave a dissatisfied moan and stretched out her sleep weary joints. "But do not act as if you go to such duties reluctantly."
"What can I say? Sunday is my favorite time of the week."
"Then I hope to change that soon to activities that take place upon this bed."
"Oh my Love, do not act as if those duties will only take place once a week," he winked at her and then disappeared behind the changing screen.
His church clothes had been laid out for him behind the screen, so the pair idly chatted while Philip changed. As Syrena fished out the items that had been thrown into the bedside drawer last night, her hand hovered over the brooch pendant.
"Philip?" Syrena called out. "May I have this?"
"Have what?" His long night shirt was tossed over the dressing screen.
Syrena's eyebrow raised and she considered what might happen if she accidentally peeked behind the screen.
She pushed away her voyeur thoughts. Syrena knew that the maids would likely be there to dress her any moment, and morning after her wedding or not, it was not a good idea to get them in a compromising position if they weren't able to have the time to finish it.
Damn Church and sense of boundaries. Deep in her gut she felt that primal mermaid part of her fight to just throw herself at Philip do what she pleased with him.
But those thoughts were wrong. It wasn't right for Philip to force himself upon her, so it wasn't right for her to push him further than he wanted to allow.
"Your mother's brooch pendant," she had to distract herself before she lost her sense completely. The time would come for lovemaking. Now was not it. "I quite like it."
"Then it's yours," his voice came from behind the dressing screen, so blissfully unaware of the inner battle his wife was having to control her desire. "In fact, how about later today I get Uncle to open the family vault and I can show you the collection that belongs to me? You can pick out whatever you want."
"Truly?"
"Well, I can't do much with seventeen sets of earrings myself and I never was one much for bracelets. Besides, that's what they're meant for: my wife."
Syrena couldn't help but tease, "Oh, so I'm your wife now?"
There was a pause, and then Philip poked his head out from the screen: a playfully annoyed expression on his face.
"I suppose in some ways, yes," he finally emerged from the screen clad in his church wear.
Syrena smiled at the image of him, "You look very handsome."
"And you are such beauty," he knelt down in front of the bed and stared up at her with wonder. "Surely you are one of God's own creations and not a descendant of those dark creatures who found no refuge on the Ark."
She leaned forward and ghosted her lips over his, "I am afraid, My Husband, that you have already used that line on me."
Philip laughed, "Forgive me, I'm new at this. I've never had such a wonder of God to praise before."
"That's more like it," she tapped him on the nose and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He reached out and caressed her own cheek. His hands on her skin sent a thrill through her nerves. Philip's touch was the soft hands of an aristocrat but callouses had begun to form from the rough work of sailing.
"How did you do it?" Syrena suddenly asked.
Philip cocked his head to the side, "Well, I thought about what nice adjectives I could use that would apply to you-"
"When you sailed to rescue Elizabeth," she explained, "one day there was a storm. How did you manage through that?"
Pink raised to his cheeks, "Oh. Well, I mostly just found a quiet corner below deck and hyperventilated for a few hours. It took them a while to find me, and Anamaria gave me a thorough scolding for dereliction of duty. I thought she and Will were going to come to blows over it, but Jack surprisingly stepped and was kind of considerate about it. Apparently, he's pretty good about not making fun of people because of fears or disabilities."
"I've heard that actually. Ragetti said that Sparrow was always good about Ragetti's missing eye. Then again, Pintel says it's because Sparrow was partly responsible for it."
"Dear Lord, did he put out Ragetti's eye?"
"No… I don't think so," Syrena scowled. "It's actually one story I've never gotten in full. No one really wants to talk about it. All I know is that it happened when Ragetti was fourteen, there was some Pirate Hunter named Salazar involved, and somehow the was the origin of Barbossa and Sarah Smith's rivalry. It's one story I've always meant to get out of them, but I figured I'd need a few bottles of rum, and considering they were cursed that liquor literally went through them-"
"I see your point." Philip thought about it, "Strange… I feel like I know the name Salazar."
"If Elizabeth's as obsessed with pirate stories, you probably have. He was a terrible man and one who met a fiery end. But that is a story for another time. For now," she took the cross of Nathaniel Swift that had been dumped into the bedside table to previous night and she neatly hung it around Philip's neck, "we get ready for church."
At that moment there was a knock on the door. Philip called back and in entered Rosalyn, Giselle, and Penwall to take care of their masters.
The maids carried in a large garment box and whisked Syrena away behind the dressing screen to ready her.
"So, Master Swift," Rosalyn always felt the need to fill awkward silences with conversation. She thought about the party the previous night, "Did you and Missus Swift have a good evening last night?"
"ROSALYN!" Giselle and Penwall scolded her together.
Syrena chuckled as she saw the realization alight upon Rosalyn's face. Unintentional or not, it generally was frowned upon to ask your master whether they had had good sex last night.
"I mean," Rosalyn yelped, "dinner was nice."
"Indeed, it was," Philip said kindly. "Did you have a good time?"
"Oh, I wasn't serving last night. After I came and fetched the two of you, I went home. My brother, Timothy is home with us for a few weeks for the Easter season."
Easter. Philip had almost forgotten about that. It was the most important time of the Christian calendar, and this year's events had completely left his mind. What point in the Passiontide were they at? He tried to recall the sermon from the previous week, but Philip's mind had been so muddled that he barely remembered. Surely it wasn't Easter Day as Pastor Thomas would have definitely said something about that last night. Thomas as a rule didn't perform any rites – much less marriage – on Black Saturday and he couldn't have possibly been busy on Friday because it was Good Friday.
But then: when were they?
Curious, Philip opened a drawer on the small desk in his bedroom and checked the small calendar book inside. He consulted his notes and immediately felt the fool. It was two Sundays before Easter: the beginning of Passiontide. Pastor Thomas had the next several sermons planned down to the minute, and furthermore, Philip had helped assemble it all.
But there was another factor he hadn't even considered that made his stomach feel like a stone dropped into the middle of a still lake: it was Passion Sunday. That was why Rosalyn's brother, Timothy Bryett had returned to Port Royal. It was tradition to travel to your home church on Passion Sunday, so all of Philip's peers growing up who had gone off on their own adventures would be falling upon the church that morning.
He had accidentally ensured to have one of the largest – and most embarrassing – crowds to announce his rushed marriage to.
Shaking away the thought, Philip idly flipped the pages of his calendar book. Guilty eyes drifted over all the appointments and promises that had been abandoned during his little adventure. So many people he had let down all in the name to save the person who mattered most to him.
Or once had mattered most to him.
He glanced back at the dressing screen where his wife was so enthusiastically trying on her new church clothing. All week she had been so excited for those new garments above all others. It warmed Philip's heart to know the reason she so adored them was to show everyone she knew just how important Sunday morning church was to Philip and she would be his enthusiastic support.
Now it was even more fitting that she got to show off her new outfit the same day she got to show off her new surname and the ring on her third finger.
"Philip?" Syrena stepped out from behind the dressing screen, "What do you think?"
His breath caught as he stared at the beauty before him. She was a vision in soft pale green and gold. The cut was a bit more modest than the rest of her gowns, but the dazzling golden patterns splayed across the fabric caught the eye immediately. Philip had been aware that Syrena had planned to match her church clothing with his, but after taking in the end result, he was slightly relieved that they had gotten married before the clothing debut. Sometimes things were a bit too on the nose.
"You look very beautiful," he said breathlessly.
Rosalyn and Giselle exchanged a look and a giggle before making their courtesies and exited the room with Penwall.
"What are you doing?" Syrena asked, fussing with her hair. She wasn't quite sure she was fond of this whole styling hair up thing. Her hair long and loose had always felt so freeing.
"Just glancing through my appointment book," Philip gestured to the small leather-bound book. "I'm realizing just how many duties I have missed out on during my grand adventure."
Syrena approached the desk and reached for the book cautiously, "May I?"
He gave a little bow and gestured at it, "By all means. I have no secrets from my wife."
My Wife. The words made both of them smile.
Philip watched as she gingerly flipped through the pages. He liked the way her brow creased as those dazzling hazel eyes studied the writing so studiously.
"It's fascinating," she marvelled.
He shrugged, "Personally I find the social calendar of the Governor's postulant nephew to be rather dull-"
"Not the events; the calendar." Her eyes danced over the headers topping each page, "I have never seen one before."
"You- You haven't?"
Syrena looked up sharply, eyes worried by his tone, "I've of course heard of human calendars before. It's just that Barbossa didn't believe in tracking the days at sea. He called it an errand for fools and feckless pansies."
Philip chuckled, instantly dissipating the fear he knew she had. He was aware that she wasn't particularly learned, but that didn't matter to him. She was a fast learner and remarkably put together for one educated by a pirate.
Her beauty and curiosity overtook his better senses. Philip came up behind Syrena and gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders and across her neck. Her body was so warm and soft. He couldn't help but place a series of kisses across her collarbone.
Syrena moaned, head lulling back against his neck as his hot mouth tenderly worshipped the delicate skin.
"Philip," her voice was filled with wanting, but she knew she couldn't have her desire. She was wedded but not bedded and this teasing was only so much she could take. "Please. More."
But instead, he drew back, "I am sorry, My Love."
Her face failed in the endeavour not to show too much disappointment, "Was it too far?"
"No. It's just we are on a tight timetable this morning and if we continue…"
The unended sentence lingered and frustrated twisted knots in Syrena's stomach. She was a bride on the morning after her wedding, surely, she would be entitled to enjoy it?
But her heavy gaze met Philip's and when the guilt filled his eyes, she only felt love for her husband. She could wait for him. She would wait for him.
Besides, she knew full well what she was getting herself into while marrying a postulant. It was an unspoken line of her vows to sacrifice her Sunday mornings for him.
She glanced down at the calendar book and eyes flitted to the appointment on the page.
"So this was the day of Commodore Norrington's promotion ceremony." She read off, "February 16, 1739. That was the night Elizabeth was kidnapped, wasn't she?"
Philip nodded, "Night of the raid. Day my life changed forever. Though then again, not as much as it changed the day I pinned you down in the water in Isla de Muerta."
"What day was that?"
"I don't know. I didn't exactly bring my appointment book with me to Tortuga."
"That is a pity. I would like to know the day we met." She absent-mindedly touched her hibiscus bracelet and the gold bar with the date engraved on it, "Or reunited, rather."
"I suppose it wouldn't be that difficult to figure out. It was two days before the curse broke and that was on the full moon. I could always rustle up an almanac and figure it out."
Syrena was silent for a moment.
"February 21st," she declared.
"What?"
"We were reunited on February 21st. The full moon was on the 23rd, and we reunited two days before that."
Philip stared at her, "How can you possibly know that off-hand?"
She shrugged, "Mermaids track the moons. It does not take long for me to translate the math between mermaid time counts to human time counts. Just because I have not seen a calendar in person does not mean I do not know how to do the math."
"Huh, I guess all of us were really not paying attention when we all claimed the voyage to save Elizabeth took a month. It really was only about a week."
"That actually makes more sense when you think about it."
"I suppose." Philip reflected on how stressful and calendar free that time had been. It wasn't entirely unbelievable for all of them to have mixed that up. But then he realized something else, "Saint Albinus."
Syrena frowned, "What about it?"
"That was four days after the full moon."
"Right. February 27th."
"That… That would have been my mother's birthday."
Syrena's face softened, "Philip. I am sorry. I didn't realize."
"Neither did I," Philip said in disbelief. "First time I overlooked it."
"I am really sorry. I should not have-"
He chuckled, "You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay. Besides, I think my mother would have gotten a kick out of me celebrating her birthday by going off to have an inappropriate dalliance with a mermaid."
Syrena's cheeks turned pink as she remembered how she had so freely offered herself to him that night.
"How old is she?" she asked, quickly trying to change the subject.
"She would have been 46."
Her breath caught. Philip's eyes held no surprise; he just nodded.
"She was 38 when we lost her," he said. "Very young to go. Too young. All of them were."
"I am very sorry."
This time he knew he didn't need to assuage his wife of guilt, "Dad was, uh, about four years older than her. Only 41 when he died. Aunt Kat was a year younger than him, 39 when she went. They just went so suddenly, one after the other. Like a horrible game of dominos."
From the look on her face, Philip realized Syrena had no idea what dominos were.
"But they lived full lives," he tried to push through the grief. "And if we didn't lose them, we never would have met you and Will. While I don't want to get into hypothetical would you rather have them or you queries, I am glad that you and Will came into our lives."
"I am glad you and Will came into my life as well." She paused and couldn't leave the tease hanging in the air, "Maybe more so Will than you-"
"Don't make me ask Rutherford for an annulment."
She just laughed and kissed the man she was so happy to call husband.
"There are the lovebirds," Elizabeth's voice sang up from the hall.
Syrena and Philip blushed as they walked arm in arm down the grand staircase where Weatherby, Elizabeth, and Will – dressed in the same clothes as the previous night as no one thought to bring his church clothes – all waited at the bottom of the stairs.
Will and Elizabeth kept exchanging knowing smiles as Philip avoided their eyes. It was very awkward for Philip to realize that his best friends were very much under the impression that Philip had fulfilled his marital duties that night.
"So," Will gave Philip a hearty slap on the back, "how was crossing the line?"
Philip just stared at Will, very much at a loss of what to say. He knew in his heart that eventually he would fess up the lack of consummation to Will (perhaps not Elizabeth as while she was friend, she was also his sister) but ten minutes before leaving for church was not the right time.
Thankfully his wife proved his savior.
"It went very well, thank you very much," Syrena said simply. She was completely non-plussed as if they were speaking about the weather. "Philip was very satisfactory last night."
She very much enjoyed the wince on Elizabeth's face. This honestly could be fun.
"You know," Elizabeth said with great reluctance, "I may regret this, but I have to ask. Does it really-"
"ELIZABETH!" Weatherby snapped. "Good Lord, first telling a man you dreamt about him and now this."
She reddened at the chastisement. Elizabeth just wanted to know if the first time really did hurt.
"Look," Weatherby sighed, "I am certain that the four of you will no doubt have prying conversations about this topic in the future. I can't blame you for curiosity. But for goodness sakes, can you at least have the decency not to conduct them in my presence?"
Will and Elizabeth muttered their apologies, and Philip let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure if his uncle was chastising out morality or as a way to cover up for Philip and Syrena's lack of consummation, but Philip suspected it was for both.
"Now, Mister Turner," Weatherby turned to Will, "I know we have monopolized your time these past few days, but I hope you don't mind joining us for lunch after church today? I feel we must have a rather important conversation regarding your future."
"Of course," Will winced, knowing very well that said conversation was about their plans going forward with Will no longer having the blacksmith shop. Time had simply run out and the option to keep the forge just wasn't in the cards.
Philip, however, assumed it was some trite conversation about conditions of marriage, asked, "Do I have to be part of these conversations?"
Weatherby just shot his nephew a look, "Well, you and your wife didn't deign to join us for breakfast-"
Will winked at Philip.
"So, I guess the answer is, do you wish to eat today?" Weatherby finished.
Philip sighed and conceded. Frankly he had been hoping to spend his first afternoon as a husband shut up in his room with his bride, testing out exactly where his new line was set.
"Lunch sounds lovely," Syrena took Philip by the hand.
The loud bells of the church began to ring across the town, and the group knew that was their signal to go.
"Ladies first," Weatherby said as he ushered the quartet out the door.
Will leaned over to whisper to Philip, "Stupid question, but how am I getting to church?"
Philip frowned, "You're coming in the carriage with us."
"Oh good. I had this horrid feeling your uncle was going to make me run behind it. You know, make sure I remember my true place in the world."
"…Uncle just let me marry a mermaid. You are sitting at least second lowest rank in this family."
"Boys!" Weatherby called out as Will and Philip made it down the steps.
Syrena and Elizabeth were politely waiting next to the carriage. Weatherby looked at the pair of men and jerked his head towards the girls.
"I don't get it," Will quietly confessed to Philip.
"As proper gentlemen we have to help them into the carriage," Philip explained. "Go help Elizabeth into the carriage."
"Don't you think it's a little too much pomp and circumstance."
"I look at it more as an opportunity to ensure you get to sit next to her in the carriage, but if you want to-"
Will wasn't standing in front of Philip anymore. Philip just laughed and approached his wife.
"My Love," he offered his arm to Syrena.
"They seem pretty excited," Syrena chuckled as Will gave a gallant half bow to Elizabeth and offered his arm.
"The peanuts courting couples grasp upon to get some scrap of physically interaction." Philip called, "Looking good, Will!"
Will gave a sarcastic half wave to Philip and Syrena and then turned around to help Elizabeth into the carriage.
That was odd. Syrena thought as she watched the happy couple enter the vehicle.
Why did Will Turner's back to her seem so familiar?
A/N: So, this retcon of the voyage to Isla de Muerta taking a week rather than a month is because I had forgotten while setting a firm date for Philip and Syrena's wedding that the raid took place during a waxing gibbous. I totally misremembered it as a full moon and thought that the curse was broken a month later during the next full moon. Low and behold while writing this chapter, I realized the proper moon phase, did some math, and realized the timeline was way shorter than I expected. So apparently no one could tell the difference between a week and a month earlier in the story.
Whatever, who actually really looks at the moon and pays attention to it that much? Philip certainly doesn't care about it that much.
Also the whole Rebecca birthday thing in this chapter was a total coincidence that once I realized, I knew I had to play with. I'm glad I went with the "actors'" birthdays (Rebecca hypothetically being Kate Mara.)
And yes, Syrena asking Philip how he managed through a storm was totally from me rewatching COTBP and realizing I time skipped over a huge storm that probably would have made Philip catatonic.
Please continue to comment and review!