BLOOD CURSE

~ TWENTY SEVEN ~

Sea breeze blew through the strands of his dark brown locks, his sky blue eyes squinting against the harsh brightness of the beaming sun. How could the world be so merry and bright when his heart was so dark and gloomy?

Docked in the bay of a little island that dealt with witchcraft and other unspeakable practices, the dark wood of the ship gleamed in the daylight. Not a single thing had changed about it other than the atmosphere on board. The deck was polished and spectacularly clean but it was no longer danced upon, card games and merry jousts no longer took place. The fanged beast figurehead stood proudly but it no longer heard the cheerful laughter of a merry crew. The black flag with its white fang dipped in blood billowed proudly in the wind, warning anyone who came near that this was not a ship to be trifled with. However, the crew took no joy in pillaging and plundering; their piracy had dwindled.

Stood at the helm of the ship, Captain James Mikaelson couldn't help the pang of pain in his heart. A year later and he still struggled to think of it as his ship. He wasn't the one who had built it from nothing, he wasn't the one who had pulled together the strongest, closest crew in the world. Sleeping in the Captain's Quarters, and sitting behind the Captain's desk, felt so wrong to James that he slept less than he usually did. He spent even less time in that room.

Commanding the crew without her guidance had James feeling lost and confused. Was he making the right decisions? Was he sailing them towards prosperous lands? He had no clue what he was doing despite the fact that he had been the previous Captain's shadow for hundreds of years. Staring down at the deck of his ship, James felt like a crook. By calling himself the Captain of the ship, he felt like he was an impostor in the place he had once called home.
The Crimson Rose would always belong to Lyria Blackwood – no matter how long she was gone.

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Begrudgingly, James retired to his Quarters for the evening, overwhelmed by the conversations he had endured and the fake smiles he had painted on all day. Whilst being a Vampyre meant emotions were nought but a trifle thing, James could safely say he felt depressed. It had been a year.

A year since he had lost Lyria and Caleb, his sister and brother, his Captain and Brother-in-arms. A year had passed and he felt worse with each passing day.
In that small frame of time, he had been forced to take up the mantle of Captain of The Crimson Rose and had attempted to pull the crew back together. All of them were mourning the loss of their two favourite crewmembers.

Piracy had been scarce from the Vampyre crew since the fall of Lyria as none of them had the heart to scare and steal from people. None of them had the heart to do anything other than feed when necessary and float around the sea. Even worse, Jonathan had fallen off the grid, his mind frayed. He had murdered many due to his rage – ripping out the throat of anyone who crossed him. No matter how hard they tried, The Crimson Rose was unable to catch him and bring him back. He had become a shadow leaving nothing but bloodshed and death. The Pirate-Vampyres had gone from the bottom of the food chain to the most pathetic creatures in existence.

Glancing at the bed where he and Caleb had comforted Lyria many a time, James ran a hand through his messy locks as a fresh wave of agony washed over him. Everything on this ship reminded him of the family he had lost. On the deck of the ship was the spot where Lyria had demoted James, tearing out his heart. That day, he had felt as if nothing could hurt more than her harsh words. He had been wrong.

In this room, James, Lyria and Caleb and participated in screaming matches with each other and then reconciled after remembering how much they loved the other. They had laughed, they had cried, but most importantly, they had protected each other.

Collapsing onto the plush desk chair, James buried his face in his hands and sobbed for the fourth time that week.

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Surrounded by darkness, Lucien Whitelock groaned as another wave of nausea hit him. Scrambling out of bed, he ignored the clinking sound of bottles hitting the floor, as he rushed to hang his head out of the window and empty the contents of his stomach into the dark, bottomless sea below. Staring at the dark blue waves reminded Lucien of the body that had disappeared in it and he rushed to find a bottle that still contained intoxicating liquid.

It had been a year since the Blood Bond between him and Lyria had broken, and he had spent every waking hour drinking, buying, and obtaining money for more alcohol. His crew were struggling to remember the last time they had seen him sober. Lucien was spiralling more and more each day.

The Captain of The Mermaid's Revenge squandered what little money was left in the coffers to fuel his addiction to alcohol, and wasting it on fake witches who pretended they could help him revive the dead. Safe to say, they had a no refund policy and decided halfway through the conversation that there was no helping he. However, no matter how many rejections he got, Lucien was determined that he could bring back his dead girlfriend.

Once again, he tried to reach her through their bond but it was empty and lifeless. Jordyn, his sister, had attempted to clean him up but she was spread between Lucien and James. Unfortunately, Lucien was too far gone in his self-destruction to pay any attention to the pleading of his crew.