“You should start believing in ghost stories, Miss Swan – because you’re in one.”
When young Princess Emma found a pirate necklace on the baby rescued from the sea, she never expected years later to be swept into an adventure worthy of her favorite novels.
And she certainly never expected someone like the legendary Captain Hook.
A “Pirates of the Carribean” AU
Notes: Here is my offering for the CSSNS! Thanks to @amorecolorfulmoniker, whose pic set inspired this fic. Thanks to my betas, @gingerchangeling and @shireness-says who acted as a sounding board, a crying shoulder and grammar enforcers where needed. Thanks also to @slow-smiles, who created amazing art for this fic! (Go and see it after you finish reading, as numbers 7 and 8 are taken from this chapter) And thank you to @wingedlioness for making the amazing header!
Starting next chapter, I will update on Sundays instead of Wednesday as school is starting again. See you on the 2nd!
Emma looked out the porthole at the sun setting. McCullough had taken her to a cabin at the stern of the ship where she had been locked up since. She had exhausted herself screaming and hitting the door, begging to be freed, to leave, but to no avail. She had fallen into a fitful sleep soon after, just as dawn had shone bright and pink between the horizon and the clouds, bathed in warm and deep hues of pinks and reds.
Waking up hours later, Emma’s throat was parched and her stomach rumbling with hunger. Trying to distract herself from both sensations, she started exploring the cabin, discovering almost immediately that a jug of water had been left out for her. She eagerly slaked her thirst before resuming her inspection of her prison.She could see that while it was very spartan, it was also very clean, which was something, she guessed. The cabin was quite small, occupied only by a small bunk and an empty desk bolted to the floor. The drawers under the bed were empty except for an old ribbon that had been forgotten at the bottom, which Emma had used to tie her hair back.
The only personal effects in the room were a handful of books left on the ledge under the window. They were mostly old treatises, with the exception of one book of poetry, the initials K.J. written inside on the cover page in flowing letters.
Under the light of day, Emma had thought about the previous night’s events. She had been foolish to think that she was on the mythical Black Roger. After all, that’s all it was – a myth. It only existed in books and the fanciful minds of superstitious sailors, nowhere else. As she tried to convince herself, Emma ignored the little voice in her mind that added
And in the minds of gullible princesses, too
It All Starts With a Dance 