A Sea of Stars

The night was clear, a black canvas strewn with a multitude of stars, devoid of clouds.

The sea was calm, though never still, its soft splashes against the hull, accompanying a ship across dark waters, a mirror to the star-strewn sky.

A slender vessel of strong, dark wood and robust metal looked built for swiftness. Its full sails, borne by two tall masts, caught the light salty air, pulling the ship across the sea.

Lanterns swayed gently from the rigging, their warm glow illuminating the lounging sailors enjoying a rare moment of peace; some leaned against barrels, others stretched out on coiled ropes.

In scuffed boots and salt-etched clothes, they shared spice tea and stale bread. No words were spoken; a cool breeze caressed their faces, distant stars captivated their eyes, and the gentle sounds of waves and the soft flutter of sails lulled them slowly into reverie.

The sea seems asleep, time feels slow, and a moment of silence envelops all.

One of the older sailors, a man of big figure and broad shoulders with a rugged face, slowly breaks the mood with a quiet, eerie voice, setting down his tin cup.

“Ever heard of the story of The grieving bride?”

Some young sailors, wet behind their ears, turned tense gazes at the old guy.

Looking at them, someone chuckled, "Another new tale? Ever gonna let 'em rest, or just keep scaring them—making them see things in the sea?"

Captain, silent till now, spoke softly, “Old Jory, save those ghost stories for later; we have The lady Aminthea on board. Don't say anything of a bad omen.”

“Whew.”

The tides of relief from the fainthearted crashed as a wave of disappointment over the old man.

He grumbled with a sense of unfairness, "It's not a bad omen."

The deck again regained its peace, only to resound with a high-pitched noise.

A subtle creak, the sound of a door opening from a private quarters, instantly seized everyone's attention. They rose, posture uptight and heads slightly bowed, any hint of previous sloppiness gone.

From an open door, a woman stepped onto the deck with dignified steps.

The moon caught her face.

Her skin was fair—smooth and pale, flushed slightly by the sea breeze. Her eyes, clear blue, and her lips, slightly chapped.

Her light blond hair, tied back with a navy ribbon, was mostly neat, though a loose strand danced across her cheek in the wind. She made no move to fix it.

She wears a gown of moonlight blue in color, full puff sleeves lined with a silver trim, and a square neckline. A soft leather belt defined her waist, and a fluffy cloak hung over her shoulders. Around her neck, a small silver moon pendant hangs elegantly.

While taking a graceful step towards the crew, she pleasantly gestures for them to be at ease. With a soft voice, she called out to the captain.

“Captain, how long until our next stop?”

The man at the helm answered respectfully in a deep voice, “My lady, at our current pace, we’ll reach Nerenhold in a day.”

After hearing the reply, her curiosity turned to the relaxing crew.

“Uncle Jory, let me be a part. I want to listen to your story,” she said with a slight smile.

A smile bloomed on the old sailor's rugged face, twisting it into something sinister, as the fainthearted averted their eyes to the stars, feigning ignorance.

Seeing how eager he is, some of the old sailors want to scream, "You will scare the young lady!!” but can only swallow their words.

The captain, looking at his ecstasy, can only shake his head in resignation.

‘He needs to tone down his obsession with ghost stories.’

Immediately a maid laid a foldable wooden chair, maintaining a respectful distance from the sailors.

“Lady Aminthea, please be seated.”

Sitting gracefully on a velvet stool seat , she signals the old man to start the story with a small nod.

The old guy, taking the cue, started the story with a low voice.

"I will share an interesting version of this story."

“She was a noblewoman once. betrothed to a lord with too many titles and riches. Her life was laid out for her—marriage, estate, duty. But her heart belonged to someone else…”

While gazing at the young men, he says, “A sailor, a poor lowborn.”

“Of course they were planning to run away. But the night before… she vanished, leaving behind a message.”

Paused for a moment, he smoothly recites the lines as if they're engraved in his mind.

A gulping sound spread through the tense silence of the crew.

Someone murmured softly, their voice tinged with hesitation, "It sounds like a curse."

One of the young deckhands nervously asked, “What happened to her?”

“Some say she drowned herself in her bridal gown, and others say she was pushed off the cliff after her family found out. Regardless, they all say she now haunts the sea.

Seeing the young deckhands frightened, old Jory was satisfied and continued the story.

“When a man drowns on a moonless night and his body’s never found, they say she took him. Gathers them, like flowers. Drowns them gently, kisses the air from their lips, and carries them into the deep.”

“That’s...kinda… romantic?” one said with a nervous chuckle. “And horrifying.”

After thinking he scared them enough, the old man added,.

“But she only comes for those carrying grief, the lonely-hearted.”

One of them near Jory added quietly with a thoughtful expression.

“I remember hearing about a stretch of water near the Mourne shoals; they call it the Bride’s Garden.”

Lady Aminthea, who had been quiet till now, spat out with an impassionate, cold tone.

“So, she disregarded her familial duty, indulged herself in her emotions, and named her ill-considered feelings love and passion.”

Continuing with a harsh tone, “After she perishes in a scandal of her own making, now she drowns innocent men… Out of what, grief?”

“If anything, this story seems like a cautionary tale about what happens when one forsakes reason for so-called passion. A warning, one might say, not a beautiful story of everlasting love,” rightfully concluded her thoughts.

Hearing her cold words, the crew can only awkwardly chuckle, long shaken by their fears of scaring her.

Sensing the mood, she stood up from the chair, asked them to continue without her, and walked towards the railing.

After reaching the railing, she placed her hands lightly on it and immersed herself in thoughts while turning her gaze to the stars.

The calm ocean captures the starry sky, making it seem as if the ship is sailing through a sea of stars. Along with the gentle cool breeze that caresses her face, her eyes were softer with a small, satisfying smile formed on her red lips, and a faint whisper escapes.

‘Strange, stars far off in the vast distant sky can still guide us to where our destinies lie.’

Then she finds a familiar star shining bright in the sky, reminding her of a name.

‘Shining bright as ever, easily captivates …… unlike him. ’

While she was intently looking at the flickering bright star, she heard footsteps approaching—soft and familiar.

“Lady Aminthea,” came a gentle voice. “Please forgive my boldness, but perhaps you might temper your thoughts. If the even the stars tremble at your anger, what hope do the rest of us have?”

Turning to the voice, she faces a woman dressed in the customary attire of a maid, her features mostly devoid of emotions if not for what seems like a small tug at the corner of her lips.

“Oh? Mira, what gave you that impression?” Aminthea expresses a slight hint of confusion.

‘I have absolutely no idea what her intentions are sometimes.’

Mira, with her straight face and a small knowing smile, says, “Then I presume your displeasure concerning young Master Vyrilark has lessened.”

Aminthea pouted, like a child who was experiencing unfairness.

"Those are entirely separate matters! Why does everyone feel compelled to speak on his behalf? You yourself witnessed the humiliation I was subjected to, did you not?"

She continued with a sulky tone, “I assure you, I will ensure he makes appropriate amends for it.”

Having finished speaking, she turned away; the maid's sighs faded as she continued to observe the stars.

Soft laughter mingled with the stillness. Everyone was at ease. There was no shouting, no ordering.

Apart from the occasional distant splash or two that barely broke the quiet—perhaps a fish or the slow stretch of the sea—peace reigned.