Shake her Hand

Lightning sparks as your hand touches hers, and the golden band around her finger stings like needles, like daggers piercing your heart. Her lips are as red as wine, as red as blood, and as inviting as ever.

You look aside and step away, swallowing down years of hopes and the memories of all those lonesome nights at Sea.

”You look well," she says again and licks her lips. Her back is against the lantern and a grasping hand searches for weak support. "I’ve missed you."

Your curt answer has her laughing – and lurching towards you. Her hands are cold, but her breath is hot and her eyes are fire. You talk to stop yourself from kissing her, about the Sea and {if The One-Eyed Captain’s Health = 0} those lost to its rages. {else} its beauties and dangers. {endif} She answers as a friend, asking about your health and state of mind. You discuss your feelings and she listens, as you listened to each other, hands entwined and hearts beating as one, all this time ago by the bank of the Sprew.

But you can see that glimmer in her eyes, the same impish curiosity that once irresistibly drew you to her. And she does not ask about your female acquaintances – {if The One-Eyed Captain’s Health = 0} safe for your former Captain, her dead friend. {else} the One-Eyed Captain, her friend, included. {endif}

You too avoid descriptions of harbourside brothels and other salacious encounters – just as you avoid looking at the accursed gold that binds her to another man.

Then she laughs. A sudden laughter, loud enough to reach out to the dark and empty hallways. "I have missed you. But I have not lived in sadness nor solitude. And I hope you didn’t either." She fiddles with her marriage band. "I am a woman wed and he wasn’t my only."

You comment the unsurprising confession with gentlemanly silence.

"You knew, of course. I cannot print all I would like, but even my colleagues know. It is an interesting life, to be sure." She pauses. "Dad doesn’t, I think – I hope. He does not read anything I publish on principle. I am his little girl, and he believes I will change any day now and return to ‘reputable studies’." She laughs again, bitter at first, but soon with familiar mirth. "It’s silly. I do good work, important work, but I still feel like that tempestuous student who’d chosen her university to spite her father – who’d sneak away to steal kisses from you."

Her lips are as red as wine, as red as blood, and they remain open after she has finished speaking. You swallow down an answer you cannot take back, a thought that has your heart beat faster and faster. Her breasts rise and stay, the both of you holding your breath.

A few moments pass.

{if The Passage of Time > 95} Your Time in Barenhaven is running out {elseif The Passage of Time > 80} Your Time in Barenhaven is coming to a close {elseif The Passage of Time > 60} You have some Time left in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 50} Your Time in Barenhaven is half-way over {elseif The Passage of Time > 30} You have quite some Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 15} You have a lot of Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 5} Your Time in Barehaven has just begun {else} You are now spending Time in Barenhaven {endif}

"You should come for dinner," she says, dispelling the moment. "I have only started to consider the role of the Sea in the wider postlapsarian framework and I would love to pick your brain." She pauses for an uncomfortable moment. "As would my husband."

You give a non-committal answer, but she gives you details: Her address, and the name of her servant. The schedules of all the members of the household and the minimal time of warning her kitchen will need.

"Don’t be a stranger," she finishes and offers you her hand. "First Officer."

You shake her hand...