Author's Note: Reposted and refurbished. :) And, as always, thank you for reading and reviewing!

GroggyRae – eventually you will get that Tia/Jack fic you always wanted. Someday…

KiritoJun – Mary Sues make me cringe, but they always seem so favorable anymore. Bleh. Some of them are pretty bloody good actually...I guess.

Pen Against Sword – 1. Your penname is all sorts of epicness… 2. thanks for saving my butt (and for your review!) :)

JeanieBeanie33 – Davy Jones is so completely and utterly emo. I rewatched DMC the other day and it made so much more sense as far as why he went off the deep end. His intentions may have started out admirable, but she just wasn't there for him for one reason or another and it set him off. He's so pathetic and at the same time such a strong character.

Fredsonetrueluv – Ditto! More Tia/Davy! woot!

Angelnanoo – It would've been even more angsty if I could've kept the lyrics. *grumble, grumble*

Thank you, Sir Drake!

To him she was extraordinary, a creature to be both feared and revered, a dreadful goddess that both attracted and repelled his affections, disturbing him with her harsh demeanor and lulling him with blissful love and unbounded devotion despite his time away from her. She was fierce, her darkness entrancing and her emotions a storm that raged around him, shaking him, rending him asunder without remorse.

She knew no bounds.

She knew only the Sea.

She served many masters and yet kept her allegiance, giving of her time and energies in a humble fashion that amazed him. Beneath her calm exterior rippled, however, something distinctly confounding, a mystifying complex that all too often revealed to him her true potency beyond their own physical realm, defying flesh and blood in a thought that frightened him and drew him yet closer still to his dark lady.

She knew no mercy.

She knew only the Sea.

He cringed then at her memory; his dark mistress had harmed him quite cruelly, the unjustified act of ripping his heart from his chest and casting it away, locked from existence in the steepled prison of the reality they had created together. He moved about in the dark, searching for a way out where none could be found, beating his fists against the walls of the tasteless dream in rage and grief. He hated her and at the same time loved her…and she would have none of it.

He knew only pain.

He knew only of her love.

She abandoned him and he felt the cold, a fleeting rush of ecstasy at her departure that only served to momentarily belay the agony of the loss.

"You don't know what you want." He whispered to his reflection as he stared down the abyss, his mind tainted by her touch, her kiss, the feel of her skin…He wanted none of it. He wanted it all.

She had power over him.

He wished she didn't.

Biting back a sob, he hit the bed exhausted by her memory. Stroking the locket resting on his chest proved only to burn his fingers, the pain melting to bleed through his veins as it gathered, making his throat dry, his stomach heave. He shouted into the darkness then, an agonized wail as the torrent burst forth, setting his heart ablaze within his chest, thumping at a marathon pace against his rib cage as he strained under the heavy weight of guilt she imposed on him.

She eagerly tore him apart.

And some part of him admired her for it.

He sat upright in the bed, decidedly tired of being tormented and used, a pawn in her cruel games. The locked pressed against his flushed skin mockingly, the metal scalding his chilled flesh; he ripped it by the chain, sending the trinket flying on a trip across the room before it crashed into the massive organ on the far side, clanking until it rested peacefully against the warped floorboards. Eying the keepsake with contempt and utter malice, he gripped the dagger tighter, bringing the blade to lie pressed beneath his heaving sternum.

Was it worth it? All the suffering, all the sorrow, all the anguish – was it all worth it? Was love worth it? Was she worth it?

Unsure again, he shook his head clear of the distracting whirl of thoughts and apprehensions, a mirage in the desert that led to death instead of the promised redemption. She was the chimera, the distortion of his psyche that remained damaged and scorched by her very essence was all evidence pointing to the fact. He couldn't bear it any longer – the blade came down and across in one smooth motion, ripping flesh and muscle, jarring bone as it carved a new hole in this already devastated man.

She was the Sea.

And she was killing him.