Oh please. I assure you that was false .. painting. I would never. That..thing.. is hardly my type!

“Did you know you are in this book?” the dual color haired woman asked the vampire casually, showing both the title and the illustration of his admiral portrait

“It says there's enough evidence linking you to a female pirate captain, who later became the queen of Hungary.”

“Quite a story.” she commented with a quirk of an eyebrow, then a sigh

“Part of the reasons why I changed my name to Cindy Flame, one's a queen, the other a war general; besides it's much easier to pronounce than Véghváry.” by now a hint of a smirk started seeping into her tone, before delivering the final blow:

“However, you might have some practice with the pronunciation.”

The vampire narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, lips pressing into a line as he regarded the woman with the kind of scrutiny that would make a mortal feel like the room had dropped ten degrees.

“Whores in History,” he repeated, voice like old velvet. “A charming title. I’m certain the scholarship is impeccable.” he snarked. Though, at the mention of a female pirate turned queen, his expression shook slightly.

“Speculation,” he said dryly. “A pastime as old as time itself. I’ve also been linked to Cleopatra, Napoleon, and a traveling knife juggler in Prussia. It seems my legacy is terribly promiscuous.”

And then..that name—

James froze.

Just for a moment.

But it was enough.

His eyes widened. A flicker of something—recognition, disbelief, and something older. Raw. Real. Uninvited.

Rozalia.

The name hit him like the scent of lilacs and gunpowder, like the clang of a crown hitting stone.

He recovered quickly—of course he did—but the crack had already shown. Surely she'd seen it. He straightened his coat, fingers suddenly too stiff.

As Rozália's words hung in the air, Admiral Norrington couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. In that moment, he could picture the scene she described, walking side by side with her, their arms linked, basking in the warmth of her father's approval. It was a vision of a life they could have had, a life where their paths didn't diverge into opposing worlds of piracy and the British Navy. He felt a bittersweet sadness wash over him, knowing that such a future was beyond their reach, but he couldn't help but yearn for it as well.

Rozália has TOLD everyone to not dare to make a fancy bird nest out of her hair; Queen or Captain, that style was always ridiculous. She trusted Ferenc's supposed miracle idea with a certain amount of wariness, but when she caught a glimpse of the nightmare on her head, the man already had a headstart.

So she did what no sane noblewoman would do: bolted after him in underclothes and a garter full of daggers.

She dashed through hallways like the reminiscent of the deadly storm, following the laughter; a sharp turn, a screeching halt to not literally slam into Admiral James Norrington. Being seen especially by him with this on her head was definitely not in the plan. At all.

“Have you seen the bastard who did this with my hair?” she managed, straight to the business

Admiral Norrington raised an eyebrow at the sight before him. Rozália was known for her fierce and intimidating presence as the pirate queen, but here she was, chasing after one of her own crew members in her underclothes with a bizarre hairdo.

his gaze lingering for a moment on the absurdity atop Rozália's head before meeting her fiery glare. "I'm afraid not, your Highness," he replied with a hint of amusement in his voice.

In a state of shock and disorientation as he awakens half-clothed on a table in the mysterious hut. His mind is in a state of confusion as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. A hand instantly going to his chest, to the stab wound.

He remembers dying, and the last thing he saw was the ugly face of Davy Jones asking if he feared death. He can't comprehend how he could be alive again, and he is even more puzzled how he got here-- to this place, this hut.

As Norrington tries to get up, he is surprised to find that he is not alone, an unfamiliar feminine voice, with the lilt as playful as the very oceans reached his ears. It startles him. you're a lang way from home….James Norrington.

Norrington's heart skips a beat as he turns around to face the woman, who has suddenly appeared in the hut. Her words confirm his identity and make him realize that he is not only far from home but also in the hands of someone who knows more about him than he would like.