Cold ocean waves slapped the underbelly of the ship as it drifted into dense fog. It was first light. Kerrigan rested her hands on the oak railing, drawing in the crisp morning air. She tasted salt on her lower lip as she mused. The crew thought it an ill omen to sail through fog. To drop anchor would insult the Gods. It's a sign, the Captain had uttered on deck. His ever-shifting gaze scrutinized the cage of white cloud from beneath his heavy brow. We go no further with the wind, Miss Rowe. Sailors turned in the sails, and both crew and Captain withdrew below deck.

Kerrigan felt like a sitting duck. The shore was within a day's reach. Just last evening she had laid eyes on the cragged peaks of the mountains, black and bold and tremendous, as they rose up from the horizon. Now the fog had consumed the world. The ship rocked alone on the steely blue, the sound of the water her only taste of the giant ocean beyond. She could hear it all around, its ever-present hum and song. The ship drifted, crawling into the unknown. Kerrigan closed her eyes. The ocean song lulled her sense of urgency, caressing her warm flesh with the damp, salted air.

The ship jolted on a heavy wave. Her knapsack, perched on the deck behind her, slumped to one side. A solid, metallic object rolled across the deck - her silver sewing tin. Yet something rooted Kerrigan in place. At the back of her mind she thought to collect her belongings and retreat to her bedchamber, but she stayed at the bow. Her breath trembled in her chest as she realised, beneath the lullaby of the ocean, was a song. A woman's song, drifting in from the fog. She opened her eyes. For one surreal moment she wondered if they had somehow reached land, but knew in her heart of hearts that this was no mainlander.

A crate skidded across the deck as the ship tilted. Kerrigan raised a hand, the sun mark of Gemini glowing on her palm. She tensed, unsure of what danger had presented itself. Her hand lowered, then dropped to her side. A shape appeared from the fog. A tall, jagged mound, of which a soft, shapely form looked out from its peak. As the ship drew near, the shape became apparent; a woman with hair as black as onyx, long and soaked. Kerrigan met her gaze and all else was forgotten.

Smoky-grey irises. Kerrigan moved to the left side of the bow. The world blurred; the ocean and the fog drained away. A woman's hand reached out to Kerrigan, as clear and as vivid as her own hand, reaching back. She let her hand press into the woman's cold, wet palm, as she resolved to bring her aboard.

Talon-like nails sunk into her skin. Kerrigan looked at her forearm, dazed, as red flowed from beneath the woman's nails. The song echoed in her mind as her body fell over the railing. The woman pulled her into a suffocating embrace and fell with her from the rock, into the crippling cold of the ocean.