She once had claws sharp enough to tear through hulls, a voice that could send sailors overboard in madness. But they carved her down to what they wanted: a faceless figurehead, stripped of thought and power, nailed to the bow to guide them through waters she once ruled. This piece is her ghost: an orchid for the life stolen, a shell for the silence forced, pearls for the salt she drowned in. No claws. No voice. Only curves for men to claim as their own.
