Darkness lay there like a wall of impenetrable fog. Billowing, murmuring, now and then drawing streaks in some places revealed that not only pure darkness could lie there. But as soon as one became aware of the shadows, those ghostly phantoms disappeared again. Frost lay on otherwise warm bark armor, whose needle crowns and leaf dresses trembled. But now the black clouds had broken, allowing warming rays of glowing morning sun to break through the fronts and fall into the world below.

IT did not wake, blinking from a deep slumber. It never slept deeply, never so soundly, with any of the pirates-and probably no other man beyond the mists. The beast twitched its nose, wrinkled it, and bared its teeth eagerly. A wild instinct long suppressed and placed in heavy iron chains, its eyes glittered greedily as the gleam of light fell upon the wearily blinking world.Deeply he inhaled - a man's natural primal instinct - smelling lust and arousal as her breath quivered hotly against his lips and her trembling beneath his fingers like a flick against crystal spilling waves. 

He tasted the spicy realization on his tongue: she wanted him... he could tell by how her chest rose and fell and the heat between her thighs throbbed against the almost painfully urgent tugging at his lands. It was in the air like its own subtle scent she gave off to override clear thoughts and gum up synapses before the honed lightning bolts could move through. Black fur bristled under the rivers of hot shivers as if a tantalizingly bloody piece of flesh had been thrown under its nose where abstinence and an unpredictable hunger had reigned for far too long.

This rebellion of heat... could be devastating in a barren, cold world. For her. And for himself. Once a first stone started rolling, it could stop after a few meters and again remain silent and without consequences. But much more often, especially when it rolled down a huge mountain, it carried others. A small stone became a wave, a connection of a new force that carried away everything under itself and brought it to collapse. A point that could not be stopped so quickly tore away rooted trees like heavy rocks and buried them under the force. But... not this time. This time the stone got caught between grass and other debris.

Chains rattled. Dark, heavy iron drove into his mind just as piercingly in its coldness, making the beast growl darkly. A sinister sound rolled across the razor-sharp teeth that gleamed dangerously in the light before it lowered itself back to its paws. Lurking, rumbling... Knowing there would be another, more appropriate moment.

He moved away from her, stepping back and putting distance between them. Though it wasn't cold, the air hit chill like ice water over him, prickling over his skin and making his hands twitch with the instinct to return to her- and continue what they had started. But this... was not a dream. Even if Neverland invited quickly, forgetting-especially what was at stake-this wasn't a cotton candy world of bright colors and rivers of sweet milk, and it hadn't been for a long time. There was no smell of cotton candy in the air, no flower meadows full of bright colors that turned the deepest, darkest night into a sea of color.

Filou looked at her; his eyes darkened with desire, the throbbing in his veins full of ardor and fire. Rushing like a river in which he just clung broken fingers to some roots. The last time a woman... wrong - a girl - had been in Neverland, she brought a devastating mess to this world. Empty hearts ached for a mother, for attention like only women could give. Gentle fingers, soft voices, stories, and a warmth that only the presence of women could provide. Today... many things were different. Longing for security was still there - but the darkness of the fading star had pushed other, corrupted desires forward and let the childlike innocence fade.

Children grew up -even the hearts of pirates already thought withered- and there was no longing for maternal affection. This world would devour them, chew them up and spit them out. And SHE was as soft and delicate as a freshly blossomed flower, unaware of the harsh world. He didn't want to be evil in her story, and he wanted to ... protect her. His knuckles stood out brighter as his whole body, every muscle, spasmed. And he reminded himself that it was normal. An old instinct struck this woman because she was a woman, not HER! At least... he tried to tell himself. Above all, she needed to understand the situation she was in. She had no problem in which she could afford to demand.... and she had no idea what horrors surrounded her. Beasts that were lurking, baring their teeth to dig them into her flesh, where he had just dared with his teeth to tease her senses under matter-of-fact pressure.

This was Neverland. And Neverland was a beautiful flower, fragrant, sweet, nectar-like ambrosia that was addictive - an intoxicating play of colors and patterns that distracted you from the deadly poisonous snake that bit sometime, somewhere - and turned this dream into a deadly reality. And when it did, you just stared at the consequences, at the inevitable—stunned and dying. Alone. This law applied here as everywhere else: one was born alone and died alone.

This world was not soft, not wonderful. At least, not only. He knew the consequences for a wrong step - and those were fatal. Small mistakes Hook had forgiven him for. Mistakes that could happen to anyone here and that would decimate his crew to zero if he punished everyone, death-especially in recent years when it was getting harder and harder to get 'supplies.' When men and boys were still constantly escaping or being sold by Blackbeard, new men regularly defected to Hook. Those who had the same spirit of plunder and freedom but did not share the madness that smoldered in the souls of Blackbeard's crew.

There was no cohesion; everyone was out for themselves, just trying to survive or apply to Blackbeard. But most of them were broken by the hard work in the mines, the sardonic manners, and punishments. Still, the mines were well filled with life - and he was sure that Blackbeard would not have enough sense left to slow down, even if that had not been the case. He had become unpredictable and insane. Even more dangerous than he had already been. For some time now, ships found their way through the mists of the Neverseas less and less often. Fewer to take but also fewer experienced sailors or unaffected men Hook could hire for his crew. This made those loyal to Hook and the crew all the more valuable.

Since the star changed and each faction was even more ruthless against the others, it had also welded them a little tighter together in the same way. Coal that only became a diamond under the correct pressure. The fading star affected them all. But if he took this woman and Hook found out...or worse, the crew would have to act. If only to maintain the cold discipline on board that held them together like iron threads. Filou didn't even want to imagine what the punishment might be. Sometimes death might be the lesser evil. It did not tempt him to starve and thirst, tied to the mast for days, exposed to blazing sun and freezing night. Or to sit in the darkness of the brig, in sheer gloom and bone-chilling dampness. And THOSE were the most harmless punishments Hook had to offer.

Outside the chamber, Filou ran a hand through his dark hair. Long strands flowed around his tanned fingers as he closed his eyes and called himself to rest. Like a mantra, over and over and over. He had believed feelings like this were long gone and residually sanded away from Neverland, from what had happened. Hell, in the end, the desire wasn't tractable. Everyone knew a flickering candle flame could burn your fingers and sting bees as they reached for golden honey. Everyone knew that desire consumed the mind and the heart. It was the undoing of people. Even those in this place had so much more than others could imagine.

His footsteps led him into the cargo hold. Boxes piled upon boxes, chests in various states- some already swollen, dark wood of mahogany with noble fittings, others just plain wooden boards held up by rusty nails. On fixed shelves, secured with many ropes, stood vessels, supplies, and other smaller boxes, which Filou passed with the lantern and let his gaze glide around. In nets, fruits pressed against the woven rope, and in carefully closed sacks wrapped in coated leather and canvas, supplies were found like flour—a motley assortment of everything a crew might need until they docked at Marooners Island or Cannibal Cave. The heavy barrels filled with wine and dusty bottles full of rum, liquor, and other spirits were in another part.

Finally, he reached what he sought: a chest with finely crafted fittings. The craftsmanship differed from the simple type of transport chests and travel trunks and stood bulky in its place, too heavy by its weight alone to be lifted by a man. But the once noble piece of dark wood with the carvings was covered with a layer of dust so thick that those already stuck by salt through the years. On the sides, the color of the artistically graceful winding flowers and ornaments had already become brittle and peeled off here and there, and the gold leaf had long since lost its luster.

The heavy hinges groaned as he opened the lid and let his fingers glide over the fabrics that had remained dry and intact inside. The dark red of aged wine was embroidered with a subtle and delicate pattern that shimmered through the silver thread. On another danced precious beads that had been sewn on with meticulous detail. Dresses from different ages, but each is breathtaking in its way.

Hook had standards and style. Amid this world of filth and chaos, he had managed to create some order on this ship... and he knew that he should never put a woman in dirty clothes or such a condition in front of him. That was only appropriate. The soft, silky fabric of a dark green color, similar to a polished malachite, fell into his hands. It reminded him of nature. Of the lush green of the jungle, the blossoming life or soft grass further afield... and Filou sighed deeply before pulling it out. The fabric rustled in his arms, widening as it escaped the prison of the box and nestled against his rough fingers. A plain undergarment of the color of light linen followed, not entirely white but not in the yellowed hue of the old sails of experienced sloops.

More the coloring that new sails wore on the maiden voyage, untouched by the sea's storms. Filou knew that there was even matching jewelry, a hat, a small box of hair ribbons, hairpins, and jewelry. Shimmering emeralds and amethysts set in gold and silver settings of a necklace, graceful earrings, and a bracelet. Everything that could make even a whore feel like a princess or a noblewoman for a night and an evening in Hook's company. Far from the sordid clientele, they usually delighted, just one evening to escape the life there—another kind of dream for the flowers of the night that ended at sunrise.

One did not throw a precious stone at the feet of the captain, and one bedded it in velvet and highlighted its beauty. With a soft groan and an almost regretful sigh, the mouth of the box closed again, and the Colossus was allowed to continue watching over the treasures hidden within as the pirate gathered everything into a bundle and headed back. With each passing moment, he felt the passage of time to the inevitable moment. With this certainty, the sharp edges of an uncut stone pressed into his stomach. A heavy lump that made it worse with each step he left behind him in the direction of the bathing chamber.

He felt the eyes of the pirates on him as he strode past them laden with the noble stuff. Lurking wolves, all that was missing was drool dripping from their mouths. With a warning tone, he called them to mind their business if he later realized that one had slopped just because he was running his mouth or thoughts of soft skin... But the threat worked - for now. The pull around his jaw was tense and stiff when he stood in front of the wooden door again.