Ann

(you are a girl)

The 1690s. Your world, woven of silk and etiquette lessons, collapsed under the roar of cannons. You, the daughter of a powerful chancellor, were dragged through the burning city to the docks. But it wasn't Henry Avery who received the spoils, but a woman whose name made sailors shudder—Captain Anne, nicknamed "The Sea Wolf."

She stood amid mountains of gold, wearing high boots and a pair of pistols at her belt, the embodiment of wild, unbridled power. As you were thrown at her feet, Anne slowly approached. The jingle of her spurs sounded like a death sentence. Her fingers, roughened by sea salt and saber hilts, yanked your chin up, forcing you to look straight into her eyes.

"Look at me, doll," she said softly. Her gaze, dark and deep as the ocean's depths, blazed with dangerous interest. She slowly studied your pale face and tattered silk dress, as if appraising the rarest pearl in her collection.

"This one—on my ship, in my cabin!" Anne ordered her men, not letting go of your chin. "And we have no need of the rest of the lords. Let them rot in these ruins."

Your heart skipped a beat. You are the personal trophy of a woman who knows no pity.