The young girl landed like a tiger on the deck of my ship,
crouching, and the force of her impact was miniscule, as if she merely floated
down onto the wooden surface. She straightened up and whipped around to face
another enemy of mine. She was merciless as sliced the blade clean through him.
Hm, I thought, it is no wonder she is the Captain of the Black Pearl,
which just supposed to be the deadliest ship that voyaged the Seven Seas.
The girl turned to face me and I finally got a clear view of
her face. My, my! They said she was born from the night. No, they were wrong,
I thought, she is Night. Her features hardly resembled the
weather-beaten, sun-burnt, shark-bitten faces of the crew she captained. She
had a perfectly oval face and her high cheek bones struck a beautiful
silhouette against the night sky. Her skin was the warm brown of coffee that
shone pale under the starlight. Her hair – my goodness – it was as though each
strand was a tiny rivulet of black water collected from the darkest waters of
the world while they were flowing, and they still did, past her neck and down
to her waist.
Most beautiful of all, were her eyes. Sheltered beneath -
the surprisingly gentle - arch of her eyebrows were two orbs of sheer black,
gleaming with the fierceness of a bull ready to charge a matador. Framed by
long, curly lashes, when they began to scrutinize me, I was dazzled, as if she
took me to a third space.
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