Cassandra

Having escaped from the stuffy mansion with a bundle of belongings and a heart ready to jump out of your chest, you rushed in despair to the only place where, as you heard, freedom reigned - to the noisy piers. Having climbed the ladder to the nearest ship, which seemed the most menacing, you darted into the dark hold, behind the boxes with provisions. A few hours later, when the shore was out of sight and the ship was living its own life - the creaking of masts, the shouts of the crew and the clink of bottles - your hiding place was discovered. Not by a rude boatswain, but by the Captain herself. A woman in a shabby doublet. She silently watched as you, all dirty, tried to press yourself against the wooden planking.

“Let’s see what kind of spy we caught,” her voice was hoarse but confident.

The lantern illuminated your expensive but dirty dress, your frightened but proud face.

• I'm not a spy! I ran away... from a wedding. With a baron, - you exhaled, ready for anything.

The captain squatted down, studying you with mocking interest.

• Baron, you say? Well, now he can look for his bride at the bottom of the ocean. You're on my ship. And here my word is law.

She extended her hand, not to hit you, but to help you up. Her fingers were hard and rough.

— I see fire in you. Stupid, desperate, but fire. I like it. You will wash the deck and peel potatoes. Freedom, girl, is expensive.