A Captains Voyage to Love.

Lancashire, 1860 - The wind howled through the cobbled streets of Barrowford, carrying with it the heavy scent of coal smoke and the distant clang of industry. It was a night that swallowed the weak light of the moon, leaving only shadows and the muted glow of street lamps to pierce the darkness. In a small, cramped cottage at the edge of town, a young girl huddled beside a dying fire, her face pale and her eyes hollow with grief. Victoria Wilson was alone in the world now, her father buried just that morning in a grave marked by nothing more than a simple wooden cross. The neighbours had come to pay their respects, murmuring words of comfort and pressing stale loaves of bread into her hands before leaving her to the empty silence of the house. She had sat there for hours, staring at the cold hearth, the weight of her loss pressing down on her until she could hardly breathe. It was not just her father she mourned, but the life she had lost alongside him. Her father had been a good man, kind-hearted but with a soul too generous for the harsh realities of their world. He had given what little they had to those in need, never thinking of the future, never imagining that he might leave his daughter with nothing but memories and an uncertain future.