In her dreams, she watches them drown.
Wrapped in a lover’s embrace, he shudders when his spine snaps, splintering and sinking into a treacherous sea. There’s no scream but the rending of canvas and the cracking of ribs; fragile bones shatter – fragile hearts, too.
The defiant flutter of sail and mast heralds Elizabeth’s fate; as scarlet waters claim them, she understands her crime. For the lie tastes bitter as blood and nothing can wash it from her lips.
I’m not sorry.
Her kiss, she thinks, was as cruel as the beast’s embrace and guilt sticks like splinters in her throat.