{ Headcanon Requests }

Following the events of Charlestown, Abigail responds to matters around herself very differently. Prior to being kidnapped by Lowe, held in a dungeon by Vane, sailing with Flint and his crew, she was positively petrified of pirates and anyone who looked like they could be a pirate. 

Her father made them all out to be terrible, evil men who would burn, rape, and pillage anywhere they went – and that nobody was ever safe from their monstrous ways. That nobody could be, until all pirates were eradicated from the seas. 

Back then, all it took was being impoverished to unnerve Abigail, who in her sheltered life had little means or reason to recognize the differences between poor and dangerous when both were described in the same ugly terms and descriptions. 

Following her ordeal however, she began to look at her world more critically as much out of her newfound disillusionment as out of a need to survive. Depending on the course she chooses ( be it surgeon or author ) the things that unnerve her vastly differ. 

To the surgeon, blood and gore hold little sway over her, and men she recognizes as violent and controlling toward women are met with a wary eye and a waiting blade. What concerns the surgeon is being found out in her own acts of silent, brutal murder. Her brand of justice requires an answer sooner rather than later, and being confronted with suspicions about her work and method is far more likely to make her nervous than unwanted advances. 

Conversely, the author never obtained that same level of anger and hardness. She exorcises her demons every single day, and works hard to hold together the fabric of a world now torn, by weaving her narrative and hoping to find some semblance of peace. She does not fear death or pain – there is a horrible numbness within her that makes her face the threat of either with a cool, almost dissociative logic. 

She feels like a ghost in her own skin and is convinced any physical suffering she faces now is meaningless in the grand scheme of her story. She is too lost and depressed to care – that is not to say she seeks out pain, or that she wishes for death. It is simply that the threat of these things do not move her, and her utterly emotionless response to them tends to be eerie enough to protect her, in the end. 

She fears confrontations with her characters – is made most uneasy by the thought of discussing her inspirations with the men who inspired her in the first place. She is set on edge when asked about her thoughts and ambitions with her writing – in truth, talking about her works in general tends to bother her. She is losing her grip on the will and ability to converse with other people, losing herself to the world she is creating to supplant the one that she lives in, and the idea that she may be forced to face the reality of the men she has created is somewhat petrifying.