Disclaimer: Not mine.


She sits at the window every day, her fingertips resting lightly on her cheek as she stares out at the horizon. Sunrise to sunset, her occupation is watching. What she searches for, I do not know. She was fine until a fortnight ago... I want to believe that she is just missing the adventure, but I can't be entirely sure.

Perhaps it's that darkening hollow in her eyes. The emptiness becomes more apparent every day, and it kills me to look at her for very long. I try to make conversation, I try to move her from her ever-fixed position where she sighs, wrapped up in her nightdress and the folds of the drapes. She hides from me when I try to turn her attentions onto something more healthy. She won't protest openly, but she gives me the most petulant look -- as though I shouldn't be trying.

As though she just wants to be left alone... She didn't used to mind me so much.

Sometimes I lay awake and wonder, vaguely, if she's so dreadful now because of Jack. If she misses him too terribly for me to understand. These kinds of thoughts always lead to suspicious ones, and it hurts me to think that the two of them could have been anything more than acquaintances. They never seemed particularly kind towards one another, but Jack could be a rather convincing actor, when he tried. Did he have reason to try?

The allusions I give myself during the night hours have haunted me for as long as Elizabeth has been a gazing statue. She couldn't be fond of him, I tell myself. But there is something about her now. Something... lacking. As though someone had taken a piece of her soul and ran away with it.

...Sailed away with it.

The disturbingly solemn way she watches the ships arriving at the dock, the somber frown upon her face... The only thing there is left to conclude is that there is something she hasn't told me. That Captain Jack Sparrow meant infinitely more to her than she ever let on.

_-= fin =-_

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