Royals of the Navy

Chapter I: A Rewind in Memory

She falls down, her golden blonde flowing outwards, as if she was in a darkened ocean sinking to the bottom. Glass shards and mirrors fall around her, they showed moments in her life from her own memory, some of which she would rather forget than remember. She opens her eyes, seeing what followed her. Looking to her right, she saw herself but at a younger stage of her life.

No scars were there, her caucasian skin was soft and pure, no imperfections were visible at all. She looked like a beautiful snowflake in her white dress, but it was that of a maids outfit. Why?

Falling deeper, she looks to her left, a man standing over her when she was even younger than before. Maybe 8 years old? The man looked furious as he had a whip in his left hand and a glass of whiskey in his right hand. The little girl was on her knees crying as she held her face. There was no sounds, but the old girl remembers exactly what happened on that day.

Wanting to not remember that specific day, she looks up to see the most spectacular - but most dreadful, day of her life. Her 6th Birthday, the day where it all took place. Chatham, Kent region, 7th of may in 1765. A new enemy had arrived to fight against England, and attacked their homeland.

Her eyes were dull, almost lifeless, then the mirror flipped over to show that she was in surgery, doctors humming away at working on her distorted and bloodied body, her legs slowly came up and over the mirrors way so she looked above her head and saw a broken clock tower.

Thinking, but sinking. Metaphors can blend into words without comprehension, symbolism can lose all face in the dark. A Siren Bomber, which strangely resembles that of the American B-26B " Marauder " from the Second World War, a twin engined aircraft. It looked sleeker and more powerful than its original model.

Its Right wing was completely gone, its left wing torn in half. The Tail section was shot up with the left horizontal stabiliser gone, the vertical stabiliser and right horizontal stabiliser had multiple holes in it, chunks taken out like they're lumps of meat being eaten.

"Who.. are you?"
A voice called out. It was from nowhere it seemed.

She looked around, with her eyes but could not see anyone. She concludes it was her fracturing consciousness. The words were more of a Statement than a question, a rhetorical question meant to make the mind ponder on what has happened rather than have a logical answer.

Meant to tease the mind, if one will. She moved her head to her right, only to see another memory of the past. It was at the Island of Ushant, her first experience with her newly acquainted family. She was sent there to fight, so she went. Her first experience in bloodshed and amongst other things.

"Why.."
She mumbles to herself, it was no one in particular, as she knew no one was actually around.

"Life must always end in tragedy, that is the Will of the Gods"
The voice spoke again, answering her question vaguely.

She widens her eyes from their original resting position, looking around, it didn't appear that anyone was around. Again. She drags a long sigh as she falls deeper into the seemingly endless void showing only debris, until her back gently hits a hard surface. Turning around, she saw what it was and reminisced, the memories she has and the friends she made along the way.

It was an old warship, one famous for its actions against the French and Spanish Armada's during the Napoleonic Wars in the Mediterranean and North Atlantic, as well as in the Revolutionary wars in America indirectly through the efforts of blockading French and Spanish Aid.

The very last of its kind, from an era long lost to history.

The First-Rate Class, Ship of the line.