Date: 2007-10-07 09:05 pm (UTC)
There's a slight noise--probably rats--and she shuts the locket only to look up all the same, startled, as the melody continues, and stands, searching the shadows for the dear form she knows must be there.

It isn't until the quiet thunk of a crab leg and the swishing of heavy, sea-drenched fabric has resolved itself into the scowling figure of Davy Jones.

Few could look on his appearance with relief, and she holds herself back and reserved still, her hand still clenches the locket tightly enough to whiten knuckles, but her eyes and voice are full of hope and longing.

"My sweet...ye've come for me."
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bringmethatnpc

October 2007

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