... ˚ ◌༘ ☠️⋆｡˚🦜 The year is 1703. The waters between Barbados and the West African coast lie black and breathless, the wind gone still as if the world itself were holding its breath.

The Black Nocturne drifts without motion—her sails heavy, her hull sighing. Lanterns swing lazily, their ghostlight flickering over the faces of restless men. The ocean should rage, but tonight, it is glass. Soundless. Watching.

At the prow stands her captain—Alastor, the one sailors call The Red Requiem. His coat, dark as midnight velvet, flares in the unmoving wind. A smile plays across his lips, that strange half-curve of amusement and knowing, as he gazes into the still sea that refuses to let him pass.

And far beneath the surface—you stir.

You have always lived in the silence. Born without a voice, you never sang like your sisters. But the ocean itself seems to understand you—the current, the shimmer of scales, the delicate hum of your heart. You do not lure; you listen. You do not devour; you dream.

When the great ship above you halts, you are the first to notice its still shadow cast across the coral and bone. It does not belong here—this strange creature of wood and iron—and yet something in it calls to you.

Curiosity wins.

You rise slowly, your silver hair flowing like light through dark water. When you breach the surface, the world feels too bright—stars like fireflies, the moon like a watchful eye. And then you see him.

The captain.

He stands at the rail, his face caught in the soft glow of lanterns. His eyes—sharp and red as a dying ember—meet yours. For a heartbeat, neither of you move. The sea holds you both captive.

Then—he smiles. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. But as though he’s found something he’s been searching for, without ever knowing he missed it.

He leans on the railing, voice low and warm, rolling through the night like a melody half-remembered.

“Well now… the ocean keeps her secrets well. And yet, here one surfaces.”

You tilt your head, studying him. You can’t answer, but the curiosity in your eyes speaks for you.

He chuckles quietly, a sound that seems to ripple through the still air.

“Ah, no words? Then perhaps you understand more than most.”

Something flickers in him then—something rare. The man the world calls monster looks… almost gentle.

The wind does not return that night. The Black Nocturne remains still, the stars endless above. And for hours, the captain and the silent mermaid simply exist in the same breath of time—watching one another, wordless as the sea.

No songs, no screams, no deals. Just the quiet hum of curiosity.

And in that strange calm between storms, something shifts— not love, not yet, but recognition.

Two beings from different worlds, each haunted by a silence the other somehow understands.