Elizabeth stood on the Pearl's foredeck, the violet silk of night air caressing her face. It was the gentlest touch she'd known in the days following Jack's return and Will's unforeseen choice. She was not certain she deserved such gentleness, but had now regained enough of the spirit of the girl she'd been to stubbornly reject the thought. The weeks of the excruciatingly slow journey to the east she remembered as a distant haze. She had refused to allow herself comfort in the form of the crew's company, Will's cautious affection, or Tia Dalma's assurances of a chance at absolution. Barbossa had been the only one on the ship whose company she could endure for long, given his unabashed amorality and clearly stated self-serving motives; the black irony of that did not escape her, and brought a twisted smile to her lips.
