Arina was use to a boat’s way of rocking back and forth the crashing of the waves. She was a stockbroker that traveled. Mainly, this is unheard of in her line of work. However, her ability to write poems became a legit excuse to travel while taking in new clients for her fake stocks. What do they say? A fool is hell-bound to fall into the spider's web.<br/><br/>The business itself wouldn't exist without the help of Mr.Black. A firm supporter of her fake stocks. He got at least 50% of the cash payout for the stocks. She smiled noticing the dense fog that was creeping upon the sea. Most found ships revolting and ended being sea sick for the entire ship. At least, most women. She was not most women in the least. Her writer’s hand was busy jotting down some lines for a poem while her back pressed against the hard rail of the ship. If she was on the boat any longer than this poem might just become a mini-selection of poems about waves, and emotions. Emotions that frankly only bothered the mundane.<br/><br/>Wisps of wavy brown locks of hair swayed before her eyes. It really was hard to deal with wind, and long hair while writing. Why didn’t she bring a hat with her on the trip as usual? Forgetful she shall be.  The waves continued to rock the boat gently, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw a man. He looked well dressed but upon further analysis he must of he really liked boats due to the way his feet hoisted him up to have a better view of the ocean.<br/><br/>The sun would of seared her into a sweaty mess because of the small black dress that puffed out at the bottom. Black was one of her favorite colors. Due to the fog she had little to worry about on the end of sun heat. She felt the ship slowly coming to a stop as it approached the island. Her father was a masterful deceiver. He deceived her mother by having a woman on the side, and then threw her mother aside like she was some sort of doll. He was rich. Richer than even Mr.Black.This made it easy for him to toss money at her to start up as a stockbroker. His job was a well kept secret as he didn't like to flaunt about what business he dealt in. Her mother was murdered by one of his lackey’s at least if her memory serves right. The most likely cause is that her mother knew too much. She had no sour feelings of remorse for the lady because the woman that was her mother had a venomous bite of being in control.<br/><br/>She was brought back from earth by a cry from a crow. The sound of a creature that represents death, or luck depending on how the lore is being read. By which side is the crow a bad symbol or a good symbol of lore? Her writer's hand began to write a quick poem about crows, and water. Writing was what she did when the world became too boring to look at. The man who was still hoisted on the railing bored her. He seemed mundane on the outside view. Maybe she was too use to being around intricately dressed men that made spectacles, and debacles at almost every event.