Ship: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, The Locked Tomb Words: 325 Notes: The last of the River bubble AUs.
——
Harrow is, after all, alone.
The remnants of her raft lay broken on the island (if you could even dignify such a small thing with that term); her empty canteen abandoned, useless. She will not die at sea, at least. She will die on land, and her skeleton will wait to greet the next unfortunate sailor to be stranded here.
There is a black shadow on the horizon. A hallucination, Harrow thinks. The dehydration is acting quickly. She sits, sun beating down on her unshaded head, and considers how best to lay out her future corpse.
The hallucination grows, materializes, shifts in form until it becomes a vast galleon, decked fore to aft with jet-black sails. Its flag, fluttering in a breeze that Harrow cannot feel, is a skull, bleached white and jawless, but in its gaping sockets are two golden eyes.
Pirates, Harrow thinks desperately, pirates of the Ninth Sea! Come to ravage her or to save her - come in fact or in vision - Harrow cannot know. But if she is not to die here, there is only one option.
“Help! Save me! Help!”
She stands as tall as she can, ignores the pain from her parched throat.
“Help me! I am lost without you! I have no recourse but your mercy!” Then, without understanding: “Please! I have needed you from the beginning. I am without purpose and void without you. Please.”
And, finally: “I have loved you.”
The dinghy is made ready, but the pirate captain does not board. Her silhouette vanishes, and Harrow is filled with a new despair.
As the boat lodges in the sand, Abigail steps forward, cups Harrow’s face in her palm, and pours water into her gasping mouth.
“Harrow,” she says with a sad smile, “she can’t save you. None of us here can save you. That’s not how it happens. It’s time for you to get up and save yourself.”
FILL: Team Webcomics/Webtoons
Words: 325
Notes: The last of the River bubble AUs.
——
Harrow is, after all, alone.
The remnants of her raft lay broken on the island (if you could even dignify such a small thing with that term); her empty canteen abandoned, useless. She will not die at sea, at least. She will die on land, and her skeleton will wait to greet the next unfortunate sailor to be stranded here.
There is a black shadow on the horizon. A hallucination, Harrow thinks. The dehydration is acting quickly. She sits, sun beating down on her unshaded head, and considers how best to lay out her future corpse.
The hallucination grows, materializes, shifts in form until it becomes a vast galleon, decked fore to aft with jet-black sails. Its flag, fluttering in a breeze that Harrow cannot feel, is a skull, bleached white and jawless, but in its gaping sockets are two golden eyes.
Pirates, Harrow thinks desperately, pirates of the Ninth Sea! Come to ravage her or to save her - come in fact or in vision - Harrow cannot know. But if she is not to die here, there is only one option.
“Help! Save me! Help!”
She stands as tall as she can, ignores the pain from her parched throat.
“Help me! I am lost without you! I have no recourse but your mercy!” Then, without understanding: “Please! I have needed you from the beginning. I am without purpose and void without you. Please.”
And, finally: “I have loved you.”
The dinghy is made ready, but the pirate captain does not board. Her silhouette vanishes, and Harrow is filled with a new despair.
As the boat lodges in the sand, Abigail steps forward, cups Harrow’s face in her palm, and pours water into her gasping mouth.
“Harrow,” she says with a sad smile, “she can’t save you. None of us here can save you. That’s not how it happens. It’s time for you to get up and save yourself.”
The world shatters.
Harrow awakens.