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They’re so fragile, they break so easily, a storm can tear the sails apart, break the masts, so of course the tentacles can break them without even trying. Sometimes Kraken thinks they’re even prettier broken, but broken by Kraken, not by weather or fire or guns.

It’s the first crack, initiation, a taste of things to come. That feeling is the best, when the first plank snaps and the taste of old wood, saturated with salt, is felt all across the tentacles.

The anticipation, letting the tentacles slither all over the wood, tangle in the rigging, feeling the tiny humans try to chase Kraken off. Kraken won’t be chased off. Kraken will have Kraken’s bride, no matter the cost.

Kraken will not take a bride that has been damaged by storms, Kraken wants pure brides, brides that have sailed the seas for a long time but not felt another force but Kraken. Kraken is their first and their last, after Kraken there is nothing left of the beautiful brides for any force but death to claim.