She was a pale and fey creature
She was a pale and fey creature standing at the prow. Even as her hair and dress faded in the sun, her skin stayed as wan as when she first stepped on board. There was something wild, something mad, contained in her calm and still figure. Everything seemed to swirl about her, as if the world spun around her as she stood still.
Such a small and quiet figure, so polite. But she was a firm woman, guiding them all on a path that only she could see. The weather was always fair and the winds steady; her one alteration to the route was to circle around a storm seen later in the far distance. A blue butterfly rested in her hair when she stood at the wheel staring out at the horizon.
Tea was serious, a precise affair, taken sharply at six o'clock, overlooking maps and ledgers she had first seen from her father's lap. It was her father's legacy they first spoke of, but it was her genius that they defended in the taverns. There was always a second tea when the moon was high, seated at a small window in the map room with black tea in a simple white cup. She only added milk when the moon was what she fondly called a 'cheshire grin'. Seated primly on the bowsprit, she watched the distorted moon dance on the surface of the tea, a ghostly shadow that slowly faded away.
She never bought a new dress after hers faded to the palest grey; instead, she bought hat pins.
Such a small and quiet figure, so polite. But she was a firm woman, guiding them all on a path that only she could see. The weather was always fair and the winds steady; her one alteration to the route was to circle around a storm seen later in the far distance. A blue butterfly rested in her hair when she stood at the wheel staring out at the horizon.
Tea was serious, a precise affair, taken sharply at six o'clock, overlooking maps and ledgers she had first seen from her father's lap. It was her father's legacy they first spoke of, but it was her genius that they defended in the taverns. There was always a second tea when the moon was high, seated at a small window in the map room with black tea in a simple white cup. She only added milk when the moon was what she fondly called a 'cheshire grin'. Seated primly on the bowsprit, she watched the distorted moon dance on the surface of the tea, a ghostly shadow that slowly faded away.
She never bought a new dress after hers faded to the palest grey; instead, she bought hat pins.