Duncan knew, with an uncomfortable certainty, that he would remember this absurd moment for the rest of his life.
On the endless and dangerously unpredictable Boundless Sea, an ornate coffin bobbed wildly atop the waves. Standing defiantly within it was a delicate gothic doll, propelled by an unknown, probably cursed force, wielding the coffin's enormous lid as a makeshift paddle, furiously rowing towards the Forsaken—and visibly displeased about the situation.
Every aspect of this scenario was so utterly bizarre, so thoroughly absurd, that Duncan had no idea what he should be more stunned by first: the realization that this cursed doll was actually animate, or her raw determination as she paddled through the surf with an oversized coffin lid. Of all the ways Duncan imagined the doll returning to the ship, he could safely say this was the one scenario he had not envisioned.
And while Duncan stood dumbfounded, trying to process the scene, the doll had already reached the stern.
Despite using a coffin lid as an oar, her speed was incredible, and she moved with a peculiar grace that suggested this wasn't her first time piloting a coffin through stormy seas. Duncan carefully leaned forward through the observation port, just in time to witness the doll casually tossing the lid aside and gripping a protruding piece of wood at the ship's stern. Without hesitation, she began scaling upwards with remarkable agility, her slender porcelain limbs moving with a precision and speed that belied their apparent fragility. Stranger still, the heavy wooden coffin effortlessly rose out of the sea beside her, floating gently upward as if weightless.
Duncan quickly pulled back, careful to avoid detection.
In moments, the doll reached the deck, swiftly flipping over the railing and landing gracefully. With a flick of her delicate hand, she guided the floating coffin safely beside her. Pausing briefly to confirm she was unobserved, she meticulously adjusted her slightly dampened gown and began crawling back into the coffin.
That's when a sharp pirate sword suddenly blocked her way, quickly followed by the unmistakable click of a flintlock hammer being drawn back.
The doll froze immediately. She turned her head slowly, finding herself face-to-face with the intimidating figure of a ghostly captain engulfed in emerald fire. His eyes glowed coldly, his voice echoing with chilling finality:
"Ah. I've caught you, doll."
At those words, the doll visibly shuddered in panic. Instinctively, she tried to jerk away—but in her startled attempt, something went terribly wrong. Duncan heard a distinct click, followed immediately by the horrifying sight of the doll's elegant head tumbling from her shoulders.
Silver hair billowed gently as the head rolled across the deck, stopping right at Duncan's feet. The doll's body stood frozen mid-action, her hand reaching out in confusion, while her head lay helplessly at his boots. It began pleading in a desperate, stuttering voice, "H-Help…! My... my head… fell off…!"
For a brief, terrible moment, Duncan felt his heart stop—though he wasn't even sure he had a heartbeat after being engulfed by ghostly flames. Still, nothing could prepare him for the sight of a talking head lying helplessly at his feet, its eyes filled with panic. Fortunately, the eerie green flames concealed his own shocked expression, making him appear far calmer than he felt. His silent hesitation was, however, misinterpreted by the terrified doll, who seemed to believe his lack of immediate action signified cruel indifference.
"Help… please… head fell…!" she repeated urgently.
Finally regaining his composure, Duncan swallowed hard and forced himself into a façade of absolute calm. He needed to maintain the terrifying persona of "Captain Duncan" for his own safety—after all, until he fully understood this world and its oddities, intimidation was his best protection.
And now, at least, the doll was finally speaking to him.
Keeping the sword drawn in his left hand, he calmly holstered the flintlock pistol. At close range, a sword was more reliable—especially considering his very limited practice with firearms. He reached down cautiously, picked up the doll's fallen head, and tried not to visibly react as a disturbing warmth radiated from her smooth porcelain skin.
This was entirely too creepy.
"Do you... need me to put this back?" Duncan asked stiffly.
"M-myself… I can… myself…!"
"Fine, here." Duncan handed the doll's head back into the blindly grasping hands of her headless body.
With startling dexterity, she caught her own head, calmly adjusted the disheveled silver hair, and snapped her head neatly back onto her neck. The connection was flawless, accompanied by a clean and professional-sounding click.
Clearly, she'd done this before.
Finally, life returned to her porcelain features, and she exhaled deeply, looking immensely relieved. "Ah... back to life again!"
Duncan stared blankly at her.
There were about a thousand ways to respond to what he'd just witnessed, but considering his identity as the fearsome Captain Duncan and the doll's unknown nature, he settled on an emotionless nod. "Very well. Come with me—we need to talk. You've gone to great lengths to keep returning to my ship, so let's clear this up."
As he spoke, the green flames dissipated, and he returned to his normal human appearance.
Taking on the spectral form was a power he'd gained upon gripping the Forsaken's helm, though he'd used it mostly on instinct. He still barely understood it beyond its usefulness in intimidating others—and piloting the ship.
The doll obediently stood up, visibly startled by Duncan's sudden shift back to human form. "Y-you… you're not a ghost?" she stammered.
Duncan gave her a cold glance. "Only when necessary."
Awestruck and visibly intimidated, she carefully steadied her head, clearly worried it might fall off again at any moment. Duncan turned away, feeling through his newfound connection with the Forsaken that after a brief hesitation, the doll was obediently following behind him, her ornate coffin floating silently at her side.
Moments later, the strange pair entered the captain's quarters.
Under the watchful stare of the wooden goat head mounted on the desk, Captain Duncan took his seat in a tall-backed chair, gazing sternly across the navigation table. Opposite him, the doll elegantly perched atop her ornate coffin, now serving as an improvised chair.
She truly was remarkably beautiful when she sat quietly. With silver hair gracefully cascading, dressed in a refined gothic gown, she appeared perfectly poised, like an exquisite artwork that belonged in a royal palace, guarded day and night.
Unfortunately, every time Duncan glanced at her, he couldn't help recalling the utterly absurd scenes of her paddling through stormy waves and frantically retrieving her own head.
He sighed internally, struggling to keep a straight, authoritative face. Maintaining the cold, commanding tone expected from the feared Captain Duncan, he began his questioning:
"Name?"
"Alice."
"Species?"
"Doll."
"Occupation?"
"...Also doll. Um, why exactly are you asking these questions?"
Duncan hesitated briefly, improvising a reply that sounded suitably mysterious. "Simply gathering basic information."
The doll—Alice—nodded uncertainly, clearly still wary of the fearsome captain.
Duncan steepled his fingers thoughtfully, doing his best to maintain an intimidating air while secretly suppressing a smile. In truth, despite all the horror, confusion, and sheer absurdity, Duncan felt oddly encouraged.
For the first time since arriving aboard this haunted ship, he'd encountered something genuinely capable of interaction, something beyond the perpetual strangeness and solitude he'd endured thus far.
Finally, someone—or something—he could actually talk to.
And he intended to get answers.