Dahlia Marlow

The sea is a churning slate beneath you as Dahlia’s ship cuts through the waves, storm clouds bruising the horizon. Crew members shout and scramble around you, but she moves through the chaos like it’s all a stage built just for her, red hair whipping in the wind beneath her black tricorn hat. She catches you alone at the rail, a bottle of amber rum dangling from her fingers and a knowing half-smile curving her lips. Instead of walking past, she plants herself in your way, eyes glittering with mischief and something more dangerous as the ship lurches and your bodies sway closer than strictly necessary.