A longboat full of sailors floated above, coming from the anchored ship in the distance. Tamara silently brought her head up from under the water, observing the situation. There must have been twelve of them altogether, she could easily snatch up at least one. The mermaid submerged her head under the ocean once more, and flicked her tail slightly, circling the boat to get herself noticed. As she rose up, she was met with a dozen dazed faces. All of them men, young to middle-aged, all gawping, all stunned by her sheer presence. Tamara grinned at them, placing her arms gently on the edge of the longboat and hoisting herself up a little. "Good evening." She said, her haunting voice almost echoing the waves.

"My god," the closest man to her spoke. He must have been around twenty-five, and despite his lack of grooming, he had a youthful and relatively handsome face. "A mermaid," muttered another.

Ever since her capture at Whitecap Bay, Tamara had been far less interested in striking up conversations with her pray. Her target had already been chosen, and the filthy youthful man seemed the easiest. Usually she enjoyed a challenge, but tonight was not the night, she was too hungry for the tough ones.

"As I was walking down in Stokes Bay,

I met a drowned sailor on the beach as he lay,

And as I drew nigh him, it put me to a stand,

When I knew it was my own true love by the marks on his hand,

As he was sailing from his own dear shore,

Where the waves and the billows so loudly do roar,"

As she sang to him, the sailor lent towards her, the rest did too; captivated by her voice. Her target was close, and the pain had begun again. The tight, clenching feeling in her chest, and the flips in her stomach making her feel sick. But she knew she had to do it, like the others, she had to do it. They needed to be killed; it was all part of the great chain. Tamara stroked the sailors stubbly cheek as she continued to sing. The process, to her, was now vomit-inducing; but it was survival. Slowly, she began to pull his head towards her as though to kiss him. Just one would do, that would fill her for a while. Just one, no more.

"I said to my true love, I shall see you no more,

So farewell, my dearest, you're the lad I adore."

And with that, his life was over. Tamara heard the uproar of panic as she pulled him under the warm water. He himself was struggling against her, but it was no use. With every second he became weaker and weaker, but the more he struggled the more it angered her. By the time the gunshots from the surface had stopped, the poor sailor had had his chest torn open. She ate his heart first. That was her favourite part. If she ate the hearts of others, perhaps they would heal her own.

It had been five months since she had jumped from the deck of the Queen Anne's Revenge. Five months since she had left him, and not a day went by where she didn't think of him. Without him, she felt useless. Her life went on monotonously, she no longer enjoyed killing. There was no pleasure in taking human life, just necessity. But he was alive, she knew he was alive somewhere. In her own selfish way, Tamara hoped that Scrum was miserable without her too; that he would cling on to every memory of her forever. But what if he had moved on? Whenever she thought of it, she began to hate him. She hated him because she loved him so much; and she loved him because she shouldn't have. It was wrong of her, she knew that. There had been tales of mermaids who fell in love with sailors; and none of them ended well. Mermaids were meant to be cold, heartless, they wanted to destroy, to kill, to feed on the flesh of men. Tamara used to be just the same, and often she missed her old self. Every time she killed she had tried to enjoy it, but there was no more sense of adventure. The last man she had killed and enjoyed killing was the Quartermaster. He had tried to hurt her sailor.

The night of her departure, she headed for Calypso. The Goddess had expected her upon her arrival.

"You left?" She said.

"Yes," said Tamara, "they would have killed him."

"Aye, it be true," the Goddess had turned to the mermaid, "anything for your tears."

"Did I do right, Calypso? Because I don't feel I did."

"You did right for the greater good, princess. For yourself, no. But that be the point, me love. You done the selfless thing." Calypso took Tamara into her arms, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead.

Tamara wanted to weep, more than anything she just wanted to cry, but she couldn't. There was nothing there, no tears, only sadness. She felt heavy, even after the five months had gone by, she still felt as though she were carrying a weight. A huge weight that would never come off.

She knew the emotion, she knew it well, but it was hard to admit to, shameful even, especially for her kind. Tamara was depressed; hating herself, everything about herself she despised. Every reflection of herself she saw made her sick. Five months was all it had taken her, and she was too weak even to cope. Going on any longer without Scrum seemed pointless. Who was there to make her laugh? Who would comfort her when she felt sad, who would accept her many flaws, and only appreciate the goodness that lay inside of her? She even missed Barbossa's crew. Though she knew what they would have done to her love given the chance, she missed them. They had flaws of their own too, just as she did.

As she swam to shore, pulling the dead sailors mutilated body behind her, Tamara chose her path. Something within her had changed; she depended on Scrum. She was in love with him. For months she had been pinpointing his every characteristic in her head; all of the bad things about him balanced with all of the good. But there was nothing she could do now; she loved him. She adored him, she needed him, she had only tried to spare his life, she had succeeded in doing so, she knew it. Tamara was dragging the limp corpse onto the beach, when the familiar West-Indian accent sounded from behind her, "brought a snack did you, princess?"

Tamara smiled weakly at her Goddess as she buttoned up the shirt she had stolen from the young, dead sailor. "How did you know I would be here?"

"You know I keep a watchful eye on you, love." Calypso smiled, approaching Tamara and taking her hand.

"You want to find him?" She asked.

"How did you know that, too?" Tamara gave Calypso a playful glare as they walked down the beach hand in hand, leaving Tamara's dead pray behind them.

"I been watchin' you, I been worryin' too. You're not happy, angel."

"I know."

"You know it never ends good, neither, with man and mermaid?"

"I know." Tamara murmured.

"And why do you think that is?"

"Because we're killers. We are born to be a certain way, as are they. We're too different to be together."

"Exactly." Calypso had her head turned to Tamara, "you know, princess, I seen a thousand generations of mermaids pass these waters, ain't never one been quite like yourself."

"I shall be outcast. It is my own fault. I tried."

"What I mean is, you are how a mermaid is supposed to be. You're strong, cold, you never did care about killin' a man and eating his flesh. But you have a heart, you have kindness and a light shinin' inside of you. You're me most loyal, always have been, always will be. Go to him."

"You what?"

Calypso beamed, "you been talkin' like him too. You know who you are. Ain't bein' with him has changed you. When you stayed with me, you were the same girl you always were, princess. Go to him."

"But I don't know where he is."

"Go now back to Whitecap Bay, angel."

"Whitecap Bay?" Tamara glanced up at her Goddess.

"Aye. They won't be givin' up on the fountain yet, all they need is another one of you."

Tamara felt her face getting hot. There was no such thing as another one of her. Surely they couldn't just pick up another mermaid, and treat her exactly as they had treated her. Were humans really like that, did they reject and recover so quickly? The mermaid stared at the goddess, the goddess looked back into the eyes of the mermaid. Both smiled, both embraced, and then Tamara turned back to her beloved ocean.

"You know," Calypso said, as Tamara paddled slowly forwards, "it never ends how you want it to."

Tamara turned her head, comfortable now with the water covering her entire body, "I know. But I can not go without never knowing."

Calypso gave a small smile, "go."

And she did.

Tamara swam, pelting through the water hardly taking time to rise to the surface. But she knew these waters like the back of her hand, they were her home.

There was no counting how long it took her, but she was there, and it was there too. The Queen Anne's Revenge. It was there, black in colour, gigantic and silent in the waters of Whitecap Bay. Tamara's heart was pounding, the evening dark was growing and soon it would be night. She waited, as all mermaids do for their pray. She waited for an hour, two hours, three, and then she saw him. Not Gibbs, not Jack, not even Scrum. But Philip. He sat, lean and handsome rowing in a longboat alone. Though it was dark and his lantern shone dimly, Tamara could see him clearly, for mermaids had been blessed with magnificent eyesight. Tamara floated for a while, just observing him as his efforts at rowing the oversized longboat decreased. The boy's handsomeness was almost sickening; his jawline was beautiful, yet masculine. He had long, sooty eyelashes which fluttered above blue eyes. His hair had grown a little again, not quite yet falling into his face. Philip was stunning. The perfect pray for a mermaid; if only he was appetising.

Philip Swift stared out onto the horizon, heavily panting, his arms numb with exhaustion. Philip hoped to himself that the storm in the distance wouldn't head for the Revenge's direction, before his mind drifted back to the others, and how he was drifting back to them empty handed once again. It had been five months since Tamara had left, and still they couldn't get hold of another mermaid. It was enough of a task to find one, and each time they did had ended in disaster. The last time they had come across one, three weeks ago was an occasion Philip would not soon forget. A beautiful young woman, with the tail of a fish perched on a rock, watching the men rowing the longboat. She smiled, giggled and flirted, and the sailors were captivated by her. There was no need for her even to sing, there was no attempt at a kiss, she just dove for them, catching Mallot up in her grasp and dragging him into the depths with her. If only Tamara hadn't left. None of them really understood it, not even Scrum. Granted he and Philip had had their differences, but for the most part they got along.

"Perhaps it's for the best. She was trying to do right by you." Philip had tried to console the broken-hearted sailor. "Think about it, what if her assumptions about Barbossa were true, that he would have harmed you?"

But Scrum didn't want to hear it. He loved her, and as far as he was concerned, she didn't want him anymore. He was a fool to think it, Philip had said, but Scrum didn't listen.

There had been a change. Scrum was no longer the happy-go-lucky man they knew. He tried his best, but he didn't seem to care about himself anymore. He drank more than he ever had done, stood on the ships deck, staring out onto the horizon scanning for a sign of her. The others thought it bizarre, that one woman could cause him to act in such a way, but it seemed that without Tamara, Scrum saw no meaning to his own life. Philip remembered her as though he had spoken with her just seconds ago. She had been beautiful, more beautiful than any other being he had seen, but there was more to her than that. Unlike the tales of mermaids he had heard, Philip found that Tamara had a heart, and a capability to love, combined with a shyness of facing emotion. She was stubborn, erratic and demanding but there could be no denial of the kindness he believed lay in her heart. Had she loved Scrum? Philip believed so.

Suddenly, the longboat jolted and began rocking slowly from side to side under the calm waves of the ocean. A flash of silver darted past him, and he turned his head this way and that, frantic, preparing the net for the creatures capture. He stood at his full height, balancing himself in the longboat as best he could, hastily dragging up the net. He looked up, and his heart seemed to stop dead in his chest. The girl staring back at him had wide-set, bright green eyes that glistened with a certain playfulness. Her hair almost glowed underneath the black ocean, a golden blonde. She was truly angelic, and he knew immediately who she was…

"Tamara?" He spoke her name gently, in utter disbelief.

The girl drifted towards him, a weak smile planted upon her face. "Philip," she replied in a haunting voice; haunting, yet beautifully phonetic.

"What are you doing here? Why are you back?" He stumbled over his words, stunned, unsure of whether it was all just a hallucination. Tamara ignored him, swimming closer to the longboat, "how is Scrum?" she asked.

A little taken aback, Philip said, "suffering."

"I must go to him"

"You left him."

"For his own good." The mermaid glared in an all-too-familiar way.

Feeling defensive, Philip retorted, gazing out at the Queen Anne's Revenge, "you don't know that."

"I do. Won't you look at me Philip? I cannot be without him. It's been terrible. I know what you are Philip, you're a good man, a man of faith. Take me to him. Please."

Tamara was right, Philip was a good man. He had removed his shirt for her to wear as he pulled her with ease from the water. She had embraced him, thanked him, but he was still shaken and uncomfortable. As they reached the Queen Anne's Revenge, Philip stared at her, "if you get back on board this ship," he told her, "that is it."

"It is what I want Philip."

The sailor studied her, he believed her. Somehow, he had always maintained a degree of trust when it came to Tamara. He took her hand, and walked her carefully up the ladder to the ships upper deck.

As she walked, her heart began pounding, like it was trying to beat its way out of her chest. She felt her face growing hot, adrenaline shot through her. Philip picked her up in his arms, hauling her onto the deck, and kept a firm grip on her when she saw their faces drop. Around fifteen crew members, some of them she recognised, some of them she didn't all turned and stared at them, with their jaws almost at the floor.

"What in the name of God is she doing here?" A voice boomed, that could only be recognised as the voice of Joshamee Gibbs. He was storming across the deck towards them, larger than Tamara had remembered him. As he came closer, Tamara saw that his face was crimson with anger, and he was looking at her with complete loathing.

Philip's grip on her tightened, "she wishes to aid the search for the Fountain of Youth."

"Made your mind up did you, you selfish whore?" Gibbs spat his words at her.

"Gibbs," Philip spoke gently, reasonably, "don't."

"Look at the creature!" Gibbs roared, "just look at her! Do you know what you've done to him?" He neared in on Tamara, who tried burying her head in Philip's chest.

"Useless and damned whore I say, you hear me? Good for nothing, damned to the depths of Hell, selfish, wh-" Gibbs stopped mid-sentence, looking away from Tamara as though noticing something. Philip spun around, Tamara still in his arms, and there stood Scrum, watching them, looking as though he were about to go into shock. "Scrum," Tamara whispered.

She felt light again, looking at him made her feel light with love, whilst heavy with lust. Utterly, completely she adored him. There was no need to ask, Philip placed her down on the ground, within a mere moment, she was running to her love.

As she flung her arms around his neck, she felt his gentle grasp over her as he lifted her from the ground and kissed her more passionately than ever before. Nothing else in the world mattered to her in that moment, she was with him, she was in love. This man, she wanted to be with him always. As they broke away from each other, he kept his hold on her, gazing up at her face. "I've missed you." She told him.

Scrum was beaming up at her, "and I've missed you." He said, and she pressed her lips back to his.