Marilyn I

Ormsport stretched out before them—a fishing village built upon the rocks, where wooden houses rose defiantly against the salty wind sweeping the coast. It wasn’t a wealthy or large town, but the kind where everyone knows one another. Waves crashed forcefully against the nearby cliffs, and the smell of the sea filled the air. Small boats rocked in the harbor, their tattered sails fluttering gently as fishermen unloaded nets full of the day’s catch.

“I swear to you, Roxxane, salmon will always be my favorite,” said Marilyn, a fourteen-year-old girl, watching the bustle at the port. Her straight red hair glowed beneath the gray sky, freckles standing out against her pale skin.

“Salmon?” Roxxane laughed, adjusting her wavy black hair that the wind constantly tossed. “It’s delicious, sure—but I assure you there’s nothing better than a trout fresh from the river. It’s pure perfection,” she said, gazing into the deep, dark waters that seemed to hold unfathomable secrets.

Marilyn crossed her arms, the squawk of seagulls overhead mingling with the port’s noise. “I've tried trout, but it doesn't have that richness,” she replied skeptically. “Besides, it dries out way too fast if you don’t cook it just right.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to cook it,” Roxxane countered with a playful glance, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “If you did, you’d change your mind. The secret is not to overcook it—just a touch of heat, and it’s done.”

The wind toyed with their simple dresses, shaking them like the nets hanging on the docks. Marilyn arched an eyebrow. “And since when are you an expert cook, huh?”

Roxxane smiled, revealing the small beauty mark beneath her right eye. "Always! Or at least since I saw my father prepare it. But don’t get me wrong, I like salmon—I just think that…,” she leaned toward Marilyn, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret amidst the clamor, “I prefer more… intense flavors.”

Marilyn laughed, the sound blending with the waves lapping at the harbor. “Always so demanding, Roxxane.”

“Demanding, but with good taste,” Roxxane replied, grinning proudly. “And, believe me, life isn’t just about what you like—but how you enjoy it. A well-prepared trout is a pleasure few know.”

Marilyn eyed her skeptically, though a mischievous smile played on her lips. “Maybe. But I’ll bet you anything that if someone offered me smoked salmon or your famous trout, I’d always choose salmon.”

“Ah, I don't doubt it,” Roxxane said, laughing softly. “You’re the most stubborn girl I know.”

“Do you think we’ll ever leave this place?” Marilyn asked suddenly, her tone tinged with nostalgia as she stared at the distant horizon.

Roxxane was silent for a moment, contemplating the question. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I wouldn’t mind staying. Other times I feel there’s something out there waiting for us.” Her eyes gleamed with a mix of excitement and fear. “Maybe one day we'll find out.”

The sun shone overhead at midday. Marilyn sat on the dock, watching her younger brother—only two years younger than her—Harlan, play with an old rope, trying to tie knots like the ones their father had taught him. Though life in Ormsport was quiet and simple, there was always something about the constant movement of the water that drew Marilyn’s gaze to the horizon.

“Not bad for being so small,” Marilyn teased, watching Harlan tangle the rope into something more knot than loop.

“I’m twelve already—I'm not small anymore!” he replied confidently, though his knot was more a jumble of rope than anything useful. Harlan shared his sister’s red hair and freckles, though he was leaner.

“Don’t worry, you’ve got time to get better,” Marilyn said with a smile, rising to her feet. “Come on—the day’s lunch will be ready any time, and you know how Mom gets if we’re late.”

As they walked back toward the small cabin they shared with their parents, the familiar sounds of the village surrounded them: fishermen unloading nets, boats tapping the dock, the distant murmur of the marketplace where families sold the morning’s catch.

Isla, Marilyn’s mother, was already making lunch when they entered. The kitchen smelled of fish stew—a scent familiar from many such mornings.

“You’re just in time, Marilyn,” Isla said without turning, her tone warm but pragmatic. “Harlan, could you find your father? He’s been chatting too long with the other fishermen and I don’t want our lunch to get cold.”

Harlan nodded enthusiastically and ran off.

Marilyn joined her mother at the table, helping to portion out the modest but well-used provisions of the day. Though they lived by the sea and what it provided, life in Ormsport wasn’t easy. Hard work, occasional storms, and relentless weather made each day a challenge. But the Crasten family always found reason to smile.

“You seem quiet today,” her mother observed gently. “Something on your mind?”

“No, Mother. I was just thinking… well, about what lies beyond the village,” Marilyn said, looking out the small window toward the sea.

Isla smiled wisely. “The sea always makes people dream,” she said, serving soup onto a plate. “But don’t forget, this place, small as it may be, has its own treasures. Sometimes you don’t need to go far to find what you’re looking for.”

Marilyn nodded, though in her heart she felt there was something more waiting for her—something she couldn’t find by staying in Ormsport.

When Harlan returned with their father, Bastian, laughter and conversation filled the cabin. Bastian was tall and strong, with close-cropped red hair speckled with gray at the temples. They spoke of fishing, boats needing repair, and rumors of a storm possibly approaching from the north. The sun continued its high climb across the sky, and all seemed at peace, as always.

The rest of the day passed like any other in Ormsport. The scent of the sea lingered in the air, and the distant sound of waves breaking against the rocky shore echoed the town’s steady rhythm. Marilyn walked the path from her family’s cabin to the harbor, where fishermen still worked on their nets or prepared boats for the next outing.

Her father, Bastian, stood by one of the vessels, adjusting a loose rope. His calloused hands spoke of years at sea, but his warm smile always made Marilyn feel safe.

“Marilyn, could you pass me that net over there?” Bastian asked without taking his eyes off his work.

Marilyn hurried on the dock’s planks, steps light and quick. Handing him the net, she noticed his focused expression as he worked almost instinctively.

“I think the wind is shifting,” she said, glancing toward the horizon where clouds gathered slowly.

Bastian frowned briefly before relaxing. “Yes, something is coming—but it doesn’t look serious. We just need to make sure the boats are properly anchored tonight.”

Marilyn was silent a moment, watching her father. Though she had grown up by the sea, she found it hard to imagine him anywhere but Ormsport. It was as if he and the ocean were bound in a way she could never fully grasp.

“Have you ever thought of going beyond Ormsport’s waters?” she asked suddenly, unable to hold it in. The question hung in the air like the seagulls above them.

Bastian paused, surprised, then shaken his head with a weary smile. “The sea is big enough for me here.” He looked out at the water. “I’ve sailed farther than you can imagine—but I always come back. This is our home.”

Marilyn nodded, though inside she felt differently. Ormsport was just the beginning for her, not the end. She kept her thoughts to herself as Bastian returned to his nets.

Later that evening when Marilyn returned to the cabin, Isla was in the doorway, Harlan peeling carrots energetically. Isla, her hair tied back and her apron stained from preparing fish, looked calm as ever—as if nothing could disturb her balance.

“Have you helped your father yet?” Isla asked softly, looking at Marilyn.

“Yes, everything is in control at the port. Dad says the wind will change tonight, but nothing serious.” Marilyn replied as she entered.

As the family gathered around the table for dinner, the sea’s constant presence filled the air—a reminder that though tides might shift, some things in Ormsport remained unchanged.

Darkness had already descended on Ormsport, and the village braced for a peaceful night. Lights flickered on in homes, and the sound of waves breaking quietly on the shore became the only relief from gathering silence. Marilyn was in the kitchen helping her mother prepare dinner when an unusual noise shattered the calm: the clamor of multiple vessels approaching the harbor.

“What is that sound?” Marilyn asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked toward Isla, who had also heard it.

Isla frowned, visibly worried. “There shouldn’t be more ships arriving at this hour. I’ll go see what’s happening.”

Marilyn hastened after her mother toward the harbor, where the murmur of voices and the roar of ships grew louder. As they neared the docks, they saw several large vessels anchoring near the shore, their dark-colored sails and unfamiliar flags flapping in the wind.

“Merchants?” Marilyn asked, alarm growing in her voice.

“No, they don’t look like merchants,” Isla replied shakily. “Merchant ships usually arrive during the day, not in such a rush.” The concern in her eyes mirrored that of villagers gathering at the port to investigate.

Lights in the homes began turning on as more residents gathered, trying to see what was unfolding. Movement aboard the ships was swift and coordinated, but in the dim light details remained unclear.

Suddenly a scream split the air. Men clad in black leather poured from the ships, armed with swords and axes. Panic swept through the villagers as the attackers advanced, screaming war cries and overrunning the harbor’s edge.

“They're not merchants—they're raiders!” one fisherman shouted, stepping back in alarm.

Terrified, Marilyn and her mother watched as raiders began storming the first houses. Cries of panic and the sound of wood breaking filled the night. Bastian appeared, determination etched on his face, running toward the harbor with local men attempting to defend their home.

“Make sure the children are safe!” he yelled to Isla before joining the others to resist the invaders.

Isla grabbed Marilyn’s hand, pulling her toward the house as chaos unfolded. Harlan, terrified, clung tightly to her.

“What do we do?” Harlan asked, voice trembling.

“We must hide and stay safe,” Isla replied firmly, though her heart pounded with fear and despair.

They took refuge in a hidden corner of the house while Isla calmed Harlan and Marilyn peeked through a crack to see raiders pillaging the village. The scene was a whirlwind of chaos: burning, looting, and destruction, with villagers outnumbered and overpowered.

Marilyn witnessed a horror she had never imagined. Her mind raced, wondering how long the attack would last and what would remain of Ormsport.

As fires began to light up the village from multiple points, Marilyn felt that her life in Ormsport had irrevocably changed. The peace she once knew had vanished, replaced by tragedy and fear. She realized that her family's survival now hinged on her courage and determination in the darkest of times.

Marilyn and her mother, Isla, were preparing to flee in search of safety.

“We must leave now!” Marilyn urged, her heart pounding with urgency.

“I know,” Isla replied, voice trembling as she held Harlan.

Flames cast an unsettling glow over the night. Isla led her children toward the back of the house just as raider footsteps grew nearer. The pain of escaping while avoiding the main streets weighed heavily upon them.

“Quick, let’s go before they find us!” Marilyn whispered.

They managed to slip out, but before they could go far, a series of blood-curdling screams tore through the quiet. Marilyn saw raiders break into their house, and a paralyzing fear gripped her as she saw Bastian menacingly confronting them.

“Dad!” Marilyn cried out, but her voice was lost in the chaos.

Isla, Marilyn, and Harlan tried to move toward the outskirts of the village, avoiding the main lanes where the disturbance was fiercest. But the raiders, clearly organized, were everywhere. The clash of swords, anguished cries, and roar of flames filled the night.

Suddenly a man appeared from nowhere in front of them. In an instant shadows moved swiftly, and Marilyn saw her mother fall, gravely wounded in the head. Isla struggled to remain conscious as the man grabbed Marilyn.

“Mom!” Marilyn screamed, attempting to reach her mother, but the man holding her knocked her brutally in the stomach.

Marilyn tried to fight back, but her efforts were futile. The man, cold in cruelty, dragged her toward the beach just as her mother lay unmoving in a pool of blood. Harlan, terrified, had hidden in a barrel inside one of the houses, trembling in darkness.

As raiders forced Marilyn aboard one of the anchored ships, she realized other villagers had been captured too—including her friend Roxxane, who sat silently, tears staining her cheeks. From the deck, they watched Ormsport burn in the distance, flames mirrored on the water. The home that had been full of laughter and love was now engulfed in infernal glow.

Night fell over Ormsport in a shroud of tragedy and loss. Raiders took what they wanted, leaving behind devastation and heartbreak. The Crasten family, once united, was now broken and scattered.

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