Dear Olivia,

Are you trying to kill me? Because it's working.

If the heart attack you gave me didn't finish me off, I bet you figured breaking my heart would. It almost has. It's hanging together by a thread.

Jesus Christ. I blame the fog.

If it hadn't been for the damn mist, we would have seen the Swedish ship coming hours before they attacked! Instead, we were caught off guard with only twenty minutes to prepare. I could already tell this would not go well for us.

And indeed it didn't.

You should have listened to me when I begged you to surrender. You managed to save your treasure, Livi, but not your health.

It was pretty awesome to watch you fight, though. Heath has taught you well. You took that brute with the confidence of a time-weathered buccaneer.

He got you good, but you didn't show it. I was rather impressed, I must admit. You struck him in the head and told him to leave your ship before worse came to him.

You managed to stay upright until the deck had been cleared of Swedes. Then you collapsed.

That's one way to give a man a heart attack, mi amor. I remember the sickening thump of your body hitting the wood. Several men rushed forward to catch you, but none did. This accounts for the long gash that now lines your chin.

Still, you remained conscious and argued with Heath all the way to the infirmary, insisting you were fine to walk. She's a strong woman, that Heather. Carried you all the way to down while I jogged alongside to keep up, pressing the fabric of my sleeve to the wound in your side.

When we reached the sick bay, several others had already been dragged down from the fight. Morphie bustled about, stitching up this and bandaging that. But he dropped everything when he saw you, which made my heart sink. A man of such responsibility would only react this way if he could see the life draining from your eyes.

He stuck you with a needle and pushed down the syringe while you scowled, twitching in pain. "What in hell was that?" you demanded. Morphine, he answered.

We saw the effects almost immediately. Heath laid you down on the bed, watching your head loll to the side as your body went limp.

I sat beside you, begging Morphie to save you. He threatened to hit me with the syringe, too, if I didn't shut up. So I sat in silence, trying to catch your unfocused eyes.

You didn't complain when he began to clean the wound. Instead, your eyes roamed the ceiling and you said suddenly, "Robin!" Startled, I took your face in my hands, about to ask if you were okay when you interrupted me. "I love you."

Of course, I was glad to hear this, and told you I loved you too. Heather watched with a smirk.

But before Morphie began to sew you up, you met my eye and said, "I can't be with you."

Then he stuck the threaded needle into your skin, and you refused to say anything more than muted screams no matter how many times I asked why.

You're asleep now, or pretending to be. In the morning, I will find out why you said what you did. But for tonight, I will sleep and hope you were only loopy from the drugs.

I dearly hope you make it through the night okay. Morphie says you're running a fever.

        Good night, Livia.

                    -Robin 💘

XXX

The dress billowed around Amelia like a cloud of red dust, flowing down her legs like a bleeding gash.

She watched the woman (Valeria, she had called herself) close the clasps on the front of her dress. On second thought, she unbuckled the clasps and ripped Amelia's bra off, bustling away to find a different one.

By now, Amelia had grown used to Valeria looking at her naked body. It no longer made her uncomfortable to stand there topless with the woman digging through a drawer right behind her, free to look up at any moment.

Valeria made a noise of approval, waving at Amelia strapless bra with a deep lacy V in the middle. She wrapped it around her, nodding. "Bien, bien."

She then redid three of the clasps, leaving the last two open. Amelia gave her a doubtful look. "Uh . . . dos mas?"

The woman shook her head. "No, no. Tú eres muy voluptuosa."

Understanding, Amelia shook her head. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she closed the last two clasps, giving Valeria a look that dared her to undo them again.

Clicking her tongue, Valeria smoothed down the fabric of the dress. Her face said, have it your way. "¡Tiempo de maquillaje!" She exclaimed, yanking Amelia away from the mirror by the collar of her shirt.

Time for . . . time for something. Hopefully, not time to die.

Valeria sat her down at the vanity, placing her plump hands on either side of her face. She patted Amelia's cheeks, tracing her jawline. "Bueno," she muttered to herself. She then opened the thick brief case on the dresser, revealing a trove of makeup.

Amelia sat in silence as Valeria applied foundation, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She allowed her mind to wander.

If she listened closely, she could hear the rest of the ship. Shouts of crewmen, waves lapping against the ship, heavy footsteps. Screaming from down the hall.

She decided she didn't recognize the voice. She'd heard Peter scream before, and that wasn't what he sounded like.

But then again, what if she'd never heard him in true pain?

Valeria moved on to blush, dusting such a cloud onto her cheeks that she sneezed. "Salud," the woman said, patting Amelia's head.

What would become of her? Why was she being dolled up instead of tortured? Terrible possibilities scrolled through her head. Was she to be sold or auctioned off? Killed and made into a figurehead for The Encantador? Kept as a maid or something worse?

Reaching for the eyeshadow, Valeria met her eye in the mirror. Amelia gathered her courage, opening her mouth. "¿Por qué?" She demanded.

Valeria's eyes dropped back to the makeup. "Estás muy preciosa en roja," she mumbled.

Amelia felt tears sting in her eyes. They blurred her vision, making the mirror in front of her a red smudge. "Why?" she said in English. Her voice raised. "Why are you doing this? What's happening? Where is Peter? I want to go home!"

With that, the tears won, ruining Valeria's makeup. The woman didn't mind, though. Her eyes softened. "Deseas su hogar?"

She nodded.

The woman shook her head. Then, she spoke the first English words Amelia heard from her: "I'm sorry."