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They say she walks on shores.
She, the lady of copper hair and eyes black as coal.
They say she guides lost sailors, castaways who the sea spat out.
She never talks, small gestures, puzzling looks, nods and pointing fingers, she wears a black dress, the skirt tattered and sleeves rolled up, an old shawl which she clutches with one hand and an empty basket on the other, she walks barefoot, her feet covered in sand and mud.
Nobody knows her name, she's never around villages, some say she's a ghost, others say she's a spirit, a fey, a witch, some even call her divine and others claim she's human, nobody knows for sure.
The island is known for shipwrecks, some locals claim it's a curse, others shove it to bad luck, but it thrives on fishing, however there's a small village where nothing grew, plagued by storms and it's waters gave no fish but corpses and unfortunate sailors, many left, those who remained withered away with time, nothing stood the test of time, where even the oldest houses turned to dust, ruins of past times.
The town folks knew the place was a lost cause, so they never tried coming back, whoever did that would be considered a bad omen, some have gone mad, others disappeared, brought misfortune to their loved ones, it was believed that it would be for the best to send them away.
The place had become a lighthouse for disaster, and when survivors arrived, she was there, waiting.
Many would ask for help, some tried their luck at a proper conversation. She always shook her head, they would ask for directions, for safety, she would point at the ruins and then at her basket, on the mists of despair the woman would hand one of the sailors a piece of paper.
Found me something of value and I shall tell you the way.
Written in neat calligraphy in whatever was the mother tongue of the sailor, but she didn't take money, she wouldn't take gems or gold, so many were forced to scatter around until they found something, anything, even the things they would consider meaningless.
They say she stood still, silent, watching.
Remains of the shipwreck, collars, carvings, twigs, seaweed, bones, one object per sailor, once all paid tribute she would point at the direction of the town and a map, as soon as everyone looked away the woman would be gone, no trace, no sound, not even footprints.
None got lost in the way, as soon as they reached the village the sailors were greeted with gasps and whispers, hushing each other as they eyes stared coldly at them, some would throw insults, other looks of pity, a few would hide and lock the doors, the most fearless offered shelter and food with minimal hospitality, no words, no questions, no names were spoken near them.
The village was known for building ships, strong, sturdy ships that could endure all catastrophe, the village did amulets too, sea themed goodluck charms and carvings on the wood, symbols and letters on languages unknown, blessings on cryptid tongues that were given by elders on blue robes and seashell crowns, bottles of crystalline water with the smell of salt poured from the crow's nest to the deck, no hiding or covering. As soon as the process was done all would be put into the ship and left to their own devices.
All claim those to be legends.
Nothing but tales, stories, fantasy, senseless, unbased rumors about the friendly people who rescued the sailors. Some know better, or believe to do so, as dreams plagued by the memories of said days flood their minds, asking their crewmates for confirmation. Some believe them, others call it a case of collective madness, one thing never changes, the island is in no map, no name, no coordinates, but it must exist, or else where did the new ship come from? Some waste their lives investigating the location of the island, some lose their lives trying to find it, it is for the better to forget, as everyone says.
However not many will.
Some claim to have returned, all of them deranged and rambling, only coming back home to throw themselves at the sea in less than a week, whenever anyone asks they would start rambling and avoid all questions, their last words a shout.
I serve Mother Ocean and join the Sea Witch's crew, let the waters cleanse my pain.
There is a legend, a person sane enough to speak, as soon as he came home and his wounds healed he got a small ship for himself and all provisions needed for months worth of travel, with tons of maps he obtained on strange shores and parchments containing weird symbols, pages torn apart from books of esoteric themes, a piece of the old ship crudely nailed into the new one, claiming that was a blessing.
Word has gotten out and many claim to see the spectre of said sailor, lost at sea, died trying to find a dream, a soul deserving of pity and working as a cautionary tale for those whose heads are on the clouds, another story to tell around fireplaces and on taverns.
Some claim it to be true and even try to prove it, try to find and rescue the sailor, at no avail, as nobody has been able to do so, rumor has it, it's been years and the sailor only stops to restock on provisions and leaves with no trace, a stranger who has traveled all around the world for an endless quest with no reward, an impossible goal and a watery grave.
But I'm not dead, I'm no ghost nor mad, and I know what I saw on my dreams, I heard the voices, the sweet siren song calling me, my veins are not filled with blood but seafoam and the ocean demands my presence, Mother Ocean wants me on her crew among other souls, she is not evil nor has ill intentions, but wants to reunite me with my crew, to sail with her on The Sea Witch will be an honor and will calm my grief stricken heart, for I am ready to see my fallen crewmates who died because of my incompetence, for I know my failure as a captain has been forgiven.
I saw her, Mother Ocean, in my dreams, dark hair full of seaweed and a long flowy white gown, her only blue eye gleaming and barnacles growing on her fish-belly white skin, creatures swimming around her as her tentacles held the skulls of my crew.
The same copper haired woman came back to meet me on shore, she signaled at the ocean and walked me to a cliff and I finally heard her soft and fragile voice.
You are like us.
She showed me the photo of me and my crew that I gave her.
Separated from your crew, your family, left behind, I am like you, I once lost my everything and now I am here to help those who are as lost as I was.
As I looked at the ocean I heard the voices of my friends, laughter and singing, I felt her cold and clammy hands on my back and her breath against my skin, after all, some of us need a little push.
The ocean has always helped me, let it help you too.