My Wish, Your Cage
Richard Fierce
1
I sat at the back of the small fishing boat, puffing on a smoke-stick as we drew closer to the Cursed Cay. The small plot of land rested a few miles offshore and was overgrown with thick vegetation.
“What was your name again?” the fisherman paddling the boat asked.
“Natavia,” I replied, blowing a stream of smoke over the side of the vessel.
“That’s an odd name. Does it mean anything?”
“Not that I know of.”
The man harumphed and continued rowing. He hadn’t asked for much in payment, but he was only willing to take me to the edge of the island’s arm. He’d muttered something about bad luck and dark curses. I wasn’t sure what he meant.
“What do you want to see the ruins for, anyway?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I said.
“Not many people come out
