Before the storm came, I was above-decks getting fresh air and staring out at the horizon. Somewhere beyond it, my husband was waiting for me. It had been over a year since he left to organize a new business venture on Trinidad. When his letter with arrangements for my travel finally arrived, my heart leapt with joy. Lost in my wistful woolgathering, I didn't notice the wind quickly pick up. In an instant, the sky became dark and rain poured down upon the Hotspur. I attempted to reach the lower decks, but a sudden starboard list flung me overboard and onto Posedion's mercy.

I did not drown that day, instead I awoke on the beach of this accursed island. Several articles I recognized from the Hotspur lay around me, including the diary and ink which I am now using. The same miracle that preserved my life also left them dry enough to to write legibly. Collecting together what I could from the beach distracted me so much that I didn't notice the group of women slowly approaching me from the treeline. Before I could react, the dark-skinned women lifted me up on to their shoulders and carried me away. There were many stories of cannibalism and other horrors among the savages of the Indies, so I feared that this would be my fate. Instead, I was put up in their largest house and presented with food and gifts. I eventually gathered that their shaman had prophesied the arrival of a pale sea goddess on their shores. They had mistaken me for that goddess!

After my initial shock, I grew used to my new status as the deity of this tiny island. However, I still longed for my husband. I could not even find relief in another man, as the tribe's men visited only briefly to claim wives and bring supplies. It was impossible to bear. One evening, I dismissed the women attending to me except for one named Tawnee. She was the strongest and most statuesque of the lot.

Once we were alone, I stood up from my dais and held my arms open wide.

"Tawnee, approach me," I ordered in a soft tone.