It was said that Captain Emberhook could smell treasure on the wind.
No map, no compass — only that cursed gleam in her one good eye and a hand made of blackened iron.
“Gold is patient,” she’d whisper to her crew.
“But I am not.”
The Crimson Gull cut through the waves like a blade through silk, its sails stitched with crimson thread and old sea shanties. Rumor had it she once traded half her soul for a wind that never died — and judging by her speed, the bargain was good.
One night, beneath a sky split open by lightning, the crew heard singing.
Sweet, haunting, hungry singing.
The helmsman froze at the wheel.
The lookout dropped his spyglass.
Even the gulls fled the mast.
Emberhook only smiled, drew her cutlass, and said:
“If it’s a siren, then let her sing — I’ve got a song of my own.”
It was said that Captain Emberhook could smell treasure on the wind.
No map, no compass — only that cursed gleam in her one good eye and a hand made of blackened iron.
“Gold is patient,” she’d whisper to her crew.
“But I am not.”
The Crimson Gull cut through the waves like a blade through silk, its sails stitched with crimson thread and old sea shanties. Rumor had it she once traded half her soul for a wind that never died — and judging by her speed, the bargain was good.
One night, beneath a sky split open by lightning, the crew heard singing.
Sweet, haunting, hungry singing.
The helmsman froze at the wheel.
The lookout dropped his spyglass.
Even the gulls fled the mast.
Emberhook only smiled, drew her cutlass, and said:
“If it’s a siren, then let her sing — I’ve got a song of my own.”
It was said that Captain Emberhook could smell treasure on the wind.
No map, no compass — only that cursed gleam in her one good eye and a hand made of blackened iron.
“Gold is patient,” she’d whisper to her crew.
“But I am not.”
The Crimson Gull cut through the waves like a blade through silk, its sails stitched with crimson thread and old sea shanties. Rumor had it she once traded half her soul for a wind that never died — and judging by her speed, the bargain was good.
One night, beneath a sky split open by lightning, the crew heard singing.
Sweet, haunting, hungry singing.
The helmsman froze at the wheel.
The lookout dropped his spyglass.
Even the gulls fled the mast.
Emberhook only smiled, drew her cutlass, and said:
“If it’s a siren, then let her sing — I’ve got a song of my own.”
