The Wicked Wench didn't feel like a suitable name for her anymore. Beckett had ruined that. Beckett had ruined her. Jack had been forced to watch her perish amidst the scorching flames that burned her alive. Flames that had burned his life, a career he loved, a ship he adored with all his heart.

She had come back to him from her watery grave as a different ship altogether. Her once polished appearance had been tarnished. The brown wood binding her together had blackened and her torn sails were no longer an innocent white but a dark shade of black. As if she was literally a shadow of her former self. She had been burnt but had not crumbled. Now she stood a proud survivor of her vicious ordeal.

No, she wasn't his beloved anymore. His lady had drowned and been lost to the sea, only for her wickedness to be released to him like a pearl from an oyster. A tarnished pearl. A black pearl perhaps. Yes. His lady had had her innocence stripped from her and had returned to him a true wicked wench as if she already knew what her purpose was to be. As if she already knew the rebellious change of career her captain had decided on.

Yes. That was it.

Jack smirked at his epiphany while lovingly caressing the helm of his newly tainted ship.

Yes. The Black Pearl was a deliciously suitable name for his wench. For his life. For his freedom.