The storm outside is relentless, but it pales in comparison to the one within me. Tonight, I write not to find peace but to give shape to the chaos that has taken hold of my soul.

Miura. Yuki Onna. The name cuts like a blade. I knew of her before tonight, though not as the spectral force who commands ice and wind. I knew her as the courtesan who once held the heart of Robert Timberlake’s sister. I knew her as the woman who defied his will and died alongside the one she loved.

She came to us tonight, the storm her herald. The Yuki Onna–vengeance incarnate. Her words were a blade of frost, sharper than the icy winds that battered the ship. “You sought to bury love beneath cruelty,” she said to him. “You succeeded. But love is not so easily silenced.” The venom in her voice, the weight of her gaze–it struck Robert like cannon fire. For the first time, I saw him falter, his defences crumbling under the weight of her accusation.

I carried him below deck as his body shivered from the cold. Each step was heavier than the last, not from his weight but from the burden of understanding. Miura was the one his sister loved, the one who stood by her side in defiance of his wrath. And Robert–what role had he played in their deaths? Was he the executioner or merely the one who turned away?

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I laid him on the bed and stared at his pale, vulnerable face, so different from the man I have served. He, who commands with authority, who demands obedience without question, now lay broken before me. Yet, I felt no triumph. No vindication. Only an emptiness colder than the storm outside.

Why do I protect him? Why do I shield him from the consequences of his actions? I tell myself it is loyalty, that my duty compels me. But the truth is far more complex. I see the man he might have been–the man his sister’s love might have saved. I see the cracks in his armour, the brief moments when he clings to me not as his midshipman but as something else. Something he cannot name.

Miura’s words haunt me. “You sought to bury love beneath cruelty.” She spoke of Robert, but her words linger in my mind. I kneel before him, obey his unspoken commands, allow him to use me as an escape. I tell myself that I am better than him, but am I? I knew what happened to Miura and his sister. I knew the rumours and still I remained silent.

Now, I am haunted. By Miura’s gaze, by the man Robert might have been, by my own complicity. I am caught between pity and hatred, loyalty and disgust. The storm outside shows no sign of abating, and Miura is far from finished with us. She is vengeance itself, and she will not rest until Robert pays the price for his sins.

But what of me? What price must I pay for my silence? I did not cause their deaths, but I knew. And I did nothing.

The cold is in my bones now, deeper than any frost. I fear it will never leave me. And I fear, more than anything, that I deserve it.