My Existence Itself Is My Threat - Part 2

"What is my role?" I asked. "You are part of the crew," he said, not the captain as I was told. "But I know maps! I read compasses!" I pleaded. He thundered, "Don’t you see? Your existence is your biggest threat!" "What threat am I to myself, when real monsters roam?" He sighed. "That is the point." "Your kind attracts the monsters. Your body feeds their souls. Their corruption lies not in themselves— But in the perception of you." I prepared for this—I thought I was ready. I shed weakness, built resilience, donned armor. Chopped my hair, wore only black, covered my skin. Even learned to wield a sword. He smiled. "That doesn’t change the truth. You remain a girl still." I winced. "Don’t call me that! I am an adventurer!" "Those are just words," he said. "They hold no weight." "Now get in the cart. It’s time to board the ship." I hesitated. I could have run, But I had never seen this monster—so I knew it wasn’t safe. At least I would grip the oar— At least I would be near the sea. We bid farewell to those who raised me. Were they ever truly mine? Their fear had vanished—replaced by relief. The journey was not so bad— My protector spoke for me, acted for me, guided me. I searched the crowd for the monster still. The ship awaited, the crew beckoned. "Wait below," they said. I stepped down—and smelled fragrance again. I turned. No windows, no way out. The basement was full of women. Bound to pillars of hope and plight. I turned to flee. I understood now— I was never to be protected, but enslaved. Pain struck my skull. Darkness. Silence. I awoke to see him— Tall, wide, the same sheepish smile— But now, the sparkle was gone. I screamed, "I was promised a voyage, not a cage!" He stared into my soul. "You were meant to row, to keep the ship in motion. Never to be captain. Never to see distant lands." His voice softened with pity. "At least be grateful— You were allowed to dream." No more screams. No more fight. Like the others, I sat, bound to pillars of silence. The fragrance was no longer flowers— But stench of dead dreams of calloused souls. Yet—a tiny window; my imagination, allowed me the sweet revelation: A glimpse of the sea. A sliver of sky. A stretch of sand. I had dreamed of these shores— But never to reach them. Protected. Safe. Enslaved. My existence itself is my threat, The story was proved time and time again…