Seventy three days until we reach Key West.
The words and images from the journal of Captain La Fey, the search for the lost key, and now, the search for the lost Captain, spin round and round me head. These stories be not mine, though I know them as well as me own mythology. Am I living some one else's life, or be this me own? Most of the day I be lost in me imagination. Me sleep be disturbed and uneasy as all these same visions continue to haunt me mind. Russian Nautical Charts, keys, letters with blood red wax seals, jewels, goblets, Greek coins, finery, Iracema, the lost child, the Selkie, the Shapeshifter... I absorb all this as if I saw it and lived it. I feel as though I had. But, I suppose, I haven't.
Grasping me skeleton Key against me chest, I feel increasingly desperate and unsure of me foothold in reality. I am completely alone in me pursuit. I can not confide any of this to anyone- at least not yet- and even if I do...what can I expect? Who will believe me and be willing to go the distance? All this be so farfetched. Be this a graveyard of hopes and dreams?
I must not get lost in me fear. We'll sail until we find them: me promise to a dying boy. O Captain Morgan La Fey, where did you hide your treasure? Is it buried? does it even exist? Am I a ghost chaser?
Just then, on the wind, a soft voice carried its sound to me ear: you are sitting on your treasure.
-Your Servant, the UnNamed Captain
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