[Ravenette]

An Artist's fantastical portrayal of Carmine "Two-Eye" Rossi, done supposedly under duress.

  They called her a Queen of the Sea.  Like her father before her, she had been born and raised on a ship.  Unlike her father, she held no allegiance to city, state, or religion- only to the freedom that came from a life without oversight.  There was only her law, Rossi's variant of the Code.  You kept what you killed, children were spared if at all possible, and anyone who paid tribute to her were free to leave without regard.

  She was Carmine "Two-Eye" Rossi, and she was a Pirate.  Had been since the tender age of fourteen, when she and a handful of others had stole a commandeered Brigantine from under her father's nose and swept off into the night with the aid of her magic.  Flying a black flag with a skull with a red eye and a blue eye, she terrorized international waters for around a decade.

   And then, she mysteriously vanished.  Some believe she was killed in a mutiny, or was caught and executed silently.

  The truth, however, was more simple.

-----

   The white-haired girl let her red hood fall from her head, exposing long curtains of silver-white hair as a pair of mismatched eyes settled upon her sleeping mother in her favorite arm-chair.  The older woman's hand clutching a nearly empty bottle of what she knew to be called rum while at the side of her chair was an ashtray with a dying cigar sat within it.  Offering a soft little noise of discontent, the leather-clad girl moved into the home and tucked her shoes into the stairwell at the entrance before grasping a cover off of a nearby table and settling it over her drunkenly snoozing mother.  A set of finely manicured nails raked through untamed tresses of snow-white and sent beaded braids jingling as her mother let loose a soft little grunt of exhaustion from a pair of scarred lips.

  Sapphire blue and ruby red turned past the living room of the house- more appropriately a hut- and into the small section of the house reserved for use as a kitchen.  She noted the copper pot turned into a moonshine still puffing pleasantly away at making the mixture within into something suitable for her mother's  strong tastes and then moved past it towards the iron pot as she began to tuck the contents of the bag tucked under her arm into it and then carefully moved it into the pit for the fire.

  She did not know it, but she had a legacy to uphold.  One worth all the gemstones in the world.