The storm was relentless, its fury tearing through the night with howling winds and rain so thick it blurred the line between sky and sea. The ship groaned beneath the onslaught, each wave crashing against its hull like a cannon blast. Morrigan stood at the base of the stairs leading to the deck, her boots slick with seawater that seeped through the cracks above. The crew had long since retreated below, huddled together in tense silence. Morrigan wasn't one to wait, though. She grew restless fast, never able to stay still for more than a few minutes.

Another crack of thunder ripped through the night, so sharp and deafening it rattled the lanterns swinging overhead. Morrigan clenched her jaw and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, shoving the heavy wooden door open against the wind’s resistance. Rain lashed at her face as she stepped onto the flooded deck, the sea’s salt mingling with the storm’s chill.

Her sharp gaze swept over the chaos—the ropes whipping like serpents, the sails torn and flapping wildly, the deck a churning mess of water and scattered debris. She squinted through the rain, her gut tightening with unease. Something wasn’t right. It was like there was a disturbance in the air

And then she saw it. Saw her.

Lying amidst the rising pools of seawater was a figure—a woman, glistening even in the dim light of the storm. Her hair, a cascade of shimmering iridescence, fanned out around her like an otherworldly halo. Her skin glowed faintly, the pale iridescence of moonlight on water, stark against the darkness of the storm.

A nymph.

Morrigan froze, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she thought her exhaustion had conjured some sea-dream, a phantom born of too many nights spent staring at the waves. But then the figure stirred, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

The pirate grumbled underneath her breath, striding towads the nymph. No rest for the wicked, she supposes.