She took the leaves from Lara, turning them over in her hands. They glinted, their lines perfectly etched and their stems smooth as marble. They were clearly the work of a master craftsman, and would have cost more than most families in Port Royal could ever dream of affording… and here they just grew on trees?

Elizabeth tried to blink away her confusion and just absorb the information without spitting it back out. Searching for logic in this madness would only make her more frustrated. What was important now was finding a way back to Isla de Muerta, after acquiring a few supplies.

“Abbingdon,” she repeated, tearing her eyes away from the leaves. “I haven’t been myself, but the name is certainly familiar. My mother had friends there when she was younger.”

Realizing her impoliteness, she hastily curtsied. “How rude of me! My name is Elizabeth Swann. My father is Weatherby Swann, governor of Port Royal, a British colony in the Caribbean.”

She plucked a few more leaves from the tree, until her hands couldn’t hold anymore. “Would you mind showing me where I can buy some clothes? I feel rather indecent like this. It didn’t seem important on a deserted island, but now…”