She was beautiful. Of course, I suppose any gentleman would say that of the woman he loved; yet, I do not suppose I truly loved her as I've learned that a man in love will do anything to protect his beloved. So perhaps my infatuation was born of her delicate skin and deep eyes, yet it was not love. So my statement still stands as a valid opinion of her looks untainted by true adoration; even though I once sought to love her.

Well, I suppose you are wondering who I am. Perhaps I shouldn't tell you, but I am too weary to care to play on your misconceptions of whom I might be or who I might have once been. I was once nothing more than a poor, bastard boy named Christopher who worked as a messenger for a carpenter in my home village of Trent. I was nothing then. I am now known as Captain Crake, cursed to forever live in a door-less house on the shore, never again allowed to sail the seas. The curse was laid on me by a fool who thought I loved the seas, yet I suppose all I really loved in my life was my freedom. Now, I am nothing still.

So, you've never heard of me? I would never have thought you had. I was no dreaded captain of a pirate ship, nor did I earn any medals in the king's fleets. I was not much more in my captain days than I had been in my boyhood. I took up the job of a sailor after I betrayed her, hoping to get far away from my memories. After proving myself a worthy sailor, the old man I worked for designated me to be captain in his place for his merchant company so that he could stay at home with his family more often. Any other man would have refused to take another man's job without getting the same rewards, but at that point in my life, I hardly cared anymore.

There was only one time in my life when I was truly happy. It was in the time when I knew her.

She was Anne by name, but so much more by smile and heart. She was kind to all in our village, helping the weak and sick or cheering the farmer and mother down on their luck. Her methods were… unorthodox. The priests and the churchgoers spoke of witchcraft and evil when not taking advantage of her skills, yet I did not care as being born a bastard I was doomed to hell already.

I and another boy, Peter, followed her whenever we could, both enchanted by her beauty and kindness. The three of us grew to be friends of sorts, but Anne and Peter were always closer to each other than I was to either as I had less time to spend with them. Peter was the son of a rich and pious black smith and needn't work more than his lessons to take his father's place required while I was working as much as I could to keep bread in my belly. I was jealous of Peter in many ways, but at the same time I was sorry for him as the more time he spent with her, the more of his own possibilities of heaven faded away.

One day, I learned that Anne was teaching many of her ways to Peter. I wanted to learn them too, but she shook her head and smiled gently at me saying it was too dangerous. I didn't see how it was too dangerous for me as I was already damned, yet when I told her as much she got angry, called me a child, and then ran away crying. I hadn't a clue what I had done wrong and blamed Peter for the whole mess.

For the next few weeks, I ignored Peter and only spent time with Anne when he wasn't around. She knew what I was doing, and told me to stop, but I was too stubborn and hurt. I wasn't sure why it bothered me so much that she was teaching him and not me, after all, I wasn't really interested in learning, until the day I spotted Anne and Peter under the spring trees. They were looking at each other, slowly drawing each other into their arms. After a long moment, they closed their eyes and kissed each other gently. I felt a surge of jealousy and in a fit of anger, I went to the priest and accused Peter of practicing witch-craft.

I will never forgive myself for what happened next.

I had thought they might lock Peter up and force him to confess and stop seeing Anne. Instead, Peter's pious father said that it must be Anne trying to spread her evil into the rest of the village. Up until that point, she had been tolerated as a helpful pest. The moment she turned into a threat though, the villagers were quick to swarm her. They tortured and questioned her, trying to get her to admit to and abandon her heathen ways, but she would only say that she did not work for the devil and did not harm others.

On my eighteenth birthday, Anne was sentenced to death for her crimes and unwillingness to confess and repent. I saw her one last time before she was burned. Frantic with misery and guilt, I told her everything I had done, explained to her why it was my fault that she was going to die, and begged her forgiveness. Even as I tried not to cry in despair at her situation, she smiled at me and asked if I had a knife. I wasn't afraid to die and thought that if she were to kill me, it would be just what I deserved. I handed her my knife and, instead of slitting my throat or plunging it into my heart, she cut off a bit of her hair and handed it to me with my knife saying, “Do not fear. I do forgive you.”

I don't think I've ever seen someone else so brave in my life since. As I took the hair in hand, I did something I hadn't done for years, and have never done again. I doubled over and bawled like a baby. I soaked her skirt with my tears and begged her to kill me. She just stroked my hair until I had calmed then gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek. "I'm sorry that I could never love you, Christopher." She said, and after that, I had to leave.

The day she was burned, I stood in the audience. I wasn't sure why I had come. I thought maybe I had come to try and save her, or perhaps just see her one last time. Yet as they took her up onto the wooden platform and tied her to the beam and surrounded her with hay and jeered and sneered at her, I found I could do nothing. I was frozen to the spot. Even when Peter broke from the crowd and tried to save her, even as he was beaten back, even as he fell unconscious and they lit Anne's fire, even as she screamed in agony, I could not move. I could not move, and I could not turn my eyes away. She was burned until she was nothing more than ash, and even then I could not tear myself from the spot.

Had Peter been awake through any of the time I had been there, standing on the spot, frozen with sorrow and guilt, he surely would have killed me. Instead, I finally tore myself away and never turned back. I found my meager new job and sailed the seas to try and escape my guilt. My life went on, and yet I never forgot Anne. Neither did Peter. Nor did he forget me.

Then came the fateful day when I was at port and Peter managed to find me. It seemed he had been tracking me all his life since Anne's death. When he found me, he confronted me and sneered at me. He accused me of my crimes and threatened to torture and kill me. I welcomed his wrath. I was ready to die. He noticed this though, and his sneer turned wicked as he laughed insanely at me. “No, no. I won't kill you. That would be too easy. Instead, I'll take you love from you as you took mine from me.” Then, using what Anne had taught him, and twisting it into an evil purpose, he cursed me. I will never die. I will never leave this prison of a house. I will never sail the ocean just out of reach of my windows. And I will never love.

After laying his curse, he killed himself to join his love. Too bad for him. I had never loved the ocean. His revenge was misplaced. His curse cannot torture me anymore than the one I made for myself. For, you see, the only love I might have had, but for some hair and some ashes, I took from myself long ago.