The captain and I have rescued crew-woman Violet. She floated ashore on top of a small harpshichord late this afternoon. After my best efforts, I managed to help her start breathing again, she had some salt water in her lungs.
Captain Swan retreated immediately into the forests to play with the coconut trees, but fortunately he left me a fresh feather to continue writing with. I'll write until I run out of ink.
Earlier this afternoon I saw The Dance of Storms in the horizon. I'm sure they saw our wreckage on the reef. They sailed out. The storm probably gave them a push into the same direction as us, although they didn't share our unhappy fate.
How lucky for crew of the The Storms. I stared at her black sails even if sunlight sparkled on the sea and into my eyes, until they were out of sight.
I hope the navy fregate pursuing us was crashed against rocks and then eaten by a whirlpool.
Violet has tuned the harpsichord and is playing it now. We're having fern roots for dinner. She’s concerned with napkins.
For the rest of the night I lay my luck in the hands of my ancestors, wishing I might get sleep soon.
But I think about the dark hole in my chest, and my heart, gone with The Storms.
