I grew up in the English countryside. My father was a pastor, a good and kind man who encouraged me to seek guidance from the Lord before undertaking any task. I knew he wanted me to follow his path into the clergy, and I did so willingly. But from the very beginning, we both knew my path lay outside the comfortable folds of my father's parish. My guidance was needed in the outside world, where the trials of sin and temptation plagued the souls of thousands of men. Pirates.
Perhaps it was a fool's errand, to try and speak to men who boldly claimed to be Godless, ruled by no force but the ocean winds. And yet, as a child, I had tried to learn about their ways, and I knew that they treated ritual with reverence—the kind of reverence I would see in the eyes of my father when he spoke of God's law. Because of this, I felt there was a chance that these men could be saved.
When Angelica came to me with her request that I pray to save her father's soul, I did not hesitate. I knew it would be a challenge that would test me beyond any thus far, but I knew the Lord would help me through. When I was bound to the mast, rain beating upon my chest and men sparring and bellowing on the deck below, I continued to look to the sky to pray for the salvation of this cruel man, the father she so dearly loved. I truly believed I would prevail.
Until I met her.