Alice

Duncan felt that he would probably never forget this sight for the rest of his life—the strange and dangerous Boundless Sea, a magnificent Coffin bobbing with the waves, and a Gothic doll driven by some mysterious force standing inside it, clutching an enormous coffin lid in both hands as she rode the wind and waves toward him...

And she did not look very happy.

No matter how he looked at it, this was far too bizarre. For a moment, Duncan did not know whether he should first be astonished that the Cursed Doll was actually moving, or shocked by the sheer grandeur of her wielding a coffin lid to part the sea. He only felt that this scene was completely at odds with what he had imagined—he had pictured several times how she might return to the ship, but never... like this.

And in the brief moment Duncan stood there in a daze, the doll had already reached the vicinity of the Lost Homeland's stern.

Though she was using a coffin lid as a tool, she rowed at an astonishing speed, with unusual agility and strength. Duncan cautiously poked his head out through the observation port and saw the doll toss the coffin lid into the Coffin before grabbing a protruding piece of wood at the stern and rapidly climbing upward—as nimble and swift as if invisible ropes were pulling her up. Meanwhile, the heavy-looking wooden box eerily floated straight out of the sea, hovering beside the doll as though it had lost all weight.

Duncan quickly pulled his head back before the doll noticed him.

The doll clearly had not realized that the Ghost Captain of this ship had been watching her from the shadows. In the blink of an eye, she climbed the Lost Homeland's towering stern, flipped herself onto the deck, then flicked her fingers through the air, causing the Coffin floating beside her to settle steadily at her feet. She turned her head to look around, seemingly checking the area near the deck. Once she confirmed there was no one around, she quickly straightened her slightly damp dress and began climbing into the coffin with both hands and feet.

Halfway in, she was blocked by a pirate sword that suddenly appeared beside her—followed immediately by the click of a flintlock hammer being cocked.

The doll froze instantly. She tried to turn her head, only to see a Ghost Captain wrapped in green flames standing beside her and watching coldly. A voice that seemed to come from the depths of the Spirit World reached her ears, icy and profound. "Oh, I caught you, doll."

Before Duncan's eyes, the doll visibly trembled. She seemed frightened and instinctively tried to dodge aside, but in her panic, her movement went awkwardly wrong. Her upper body swayed, and Duncan heard a crisp crack from her shoulder and neck.

Then her head fell off...

Right before Duncan's eyes, a beautiful head dropped from the doll's body. Her long silver-white hair scattered in the sea breeze, then tangled around the head as it rolled to his feet—the doll's body still held the pose of preparing to flee beside the Coffin, one hand groping aimlessly through the air, while her head stared helplessly at Duncan, her mouth opening and closing. "Help... help... help..."

No exaggeration: Duncan's heart nearly stopped beating at that moment—though he seriously doubted whether he even still had a heart after being consumed by ghostly flames, watching the doll's head fall still truly shocked him. The blazing ghostly fire concealed his horrified expression, while his brief hesitation in astonishment was taken by the doll as a kind of cold indifference. Miss Doll did not realize that the terrifying Captain Duncan seemed even more nervous than she was, and simply kept repeating, "Help... help... my head... fell off..."

Duncan finally came to his senses. He soothed the tiny heart that currently existed only in his imagination, doing his utmost to control his movements and voice. With the greatest calm and composure, he observed the doll for a moment and confirmed that although this "Cursed Doll" possessed all manner of strange qualities, she seemed... more frightened of him, the "Ghost Captain," than of her own bizarre nature.

The instant he grasped this fact, Duncan realized that he had to maintain this composure.

He did not understand this world, much less this Cursed Doll. Before he could gain complete control of the situation, the identity of "the terrifying Captain Duncan" was his greatest safeguard.

On the other hand, he could not simply leave the doll before him alone—though things had not developed quite as he had originally expected, the result was that this doll could finally communicate with him.

He put away the flintlock while keeping his sword in his other hand—at close range, a flintlock with only one shot was clearly less reliable than a blade, not to mention that the firearms training he had hurriedly practiced was still far from enough to make him a skilled marksman. Then he used his free hand to pick up the doll's head from the ground.

The feeling was extremely strange. Though he knew she was merely a Cursed Doll, the sensation of reaching out and picking up a "head" still made Duncan uneasy. Then the faint warmth coming from the head nearly gave him the urge to throw it away.

It was too uncanny and bizarre.

But in the end, he suppressed the strange feelings rising within him and calmly met the head's gaze. "Do you need me to put it back for you?"

"M-my... my..."

"Fine, you do it yourself." Duncan nodded and casually handed the head to the doll's hand, which was flailing about in the air.

Then he saw those hands catch their own head with remarkable skill and dexterity. They even smoothed out the slightly messy silver hair, adjusted the angle, and placed the head against the neck—with a crisp click, the ball joint fitted perfectly into place.

The whole process was smooth and practiced. Clearly, this was not her first time doing it.

The doll's somewhat stiff face immediately became animated. She blinked, then let out a long breath. "Whew... I'm alive again."

Duncan: "..."

No matter how he looked at it, he felt he ought to make some sarcastic comment. But after considering his Captain Duncan persona and the unknown nature of the doll before him, he merely nodded at her expressionlessly. "Very good. Now come with me—you've come aboard my ship again and again. We need to talk."

As he spoke, he dispersed the ghostly flames coiling around him and returned to his original appearance.

The ability to actively transform into Spirit Form was something he had mastered after gripping the Lost Homeland's helm. But this was still something he had encountered in haste. He was nowhere near proficient with it, much less able to make any real "use" of this power. Aside from sailing the ship, he did not even know what else it could do—he had released it just now only to create an imposing image before the strange Cursed Doll and bolster his own courage.

Now that his image had been established and the doll was cooperating, there was no need to keep wasting energy maintaining the flames.

The Cursed Doll obediently stood up from beside the coffin, then stared in amazement as Duncan returned to human form. "Y-you're not a ghost?"

Duncan gave her a calm glance. "When necessary, I can be."

The doll raised a hand to steady her head, and there seemed to be a trace of awe in her eyes.

Duncan had no idea what she was in awe of, but it was clear that her head still did not seem very secure—it might have nearly fallen off again from fright.

He turned and headed toward the Captain's Cabin. Through his real-time connection with the Lost Homeland, he could sense that after hesitating for a second or two, the doll honestly followed him.

Just as expected, that magnificent yet strange "Coffin" floated closely behind the doll. She seemed to take it wherever she went.

A moment later, Duncan brought the Cursed Doll into the Captain's Cabin.

Under the carved wooden Goat Head's dim gaze, the Ghost Captain and the Cursed Doll sat across from each other at the Navigation Table. Duncan sat in his dark high-backed chair, while Miss Doll sat gracefully and properly atop the coffin-like wooden box as though it were a chair.

She truly was graceful and proper. When she sat down and remained quiet, when her silver hair fell loose over her shoulders and she sat atop that wooden box in a Gothic dress, she was dignified and beautiful like a work of art that ought to be displayed in a palace, surrounded by guards.

Unfortunately, whenever Duncan looked at her, he thought of how this young lady had ridden the wind and waves—and gone separate ways with her own head—just moments ago...

He sighed, resumed his cold and imposing expression, and stared into Miss Doll's eyes. "Name?"

"Alice."

"Race?"

"Doll."

"Occupation?"

"Doll... Why are you asking these things?"

Duncan thought for a moment. "To establish some basic understanding."