She had lost track of time. There were times the sunlight didn't even shine to let her know she had made it through one more day at the bottom of the ocean. This was her own personal Hell, punishment for the ungodly things she had done to get to this point. At least that's what she had come to believe. She never thought of herself as a terrible person but years tied to a sunken ship will have you questioning every aspect of yourself. Once the screaming subsides, all you have to do is think.

Davy Jones had come to offer salvation on several occasions only to be turned down. She knew he couldn't touch her thanks to the cursed coinage in the pouch tied to her belt. He seemed visibly more frustrated each time she rejected his soul damning offer but she reasoned that this was better than being bound to his crew for a century of servitude. She had fought against slavery in life and she'd be damned if she allowed herself to become one herself in undeath. So there she stayed, no one but the passing sealife to keep her company.

She rested her head against the wood of the mast. Her beloved Cry of Liberty had been sunk by the Royal African Company and her crew captured and probably resold into the life they had fought to get away from. This is what hurt her the most. She had failed to protect the men and women who had pledged loyalty to her. She recalled the Greek boy who they had freed from one of the sugar plantations he had been sold to. He had commented that her name was in fact Greek, meaning Defender of Mankind. The memory of how proudly he had stated it, how she was indeed living up to her name, helped keep her mind sane through the years.

Captain Sasha Hartford would rise again and those who traded and profited in human lives would be held accountable by the steel of her blade.