A man who thought he could take on the great Princess of the ship Lyra snuck up on her from behind, and tried to tear the clothing of Amelia Pond.
Of course, he could not win the fight he had begun, and Amelia's knife swung swiftly to its mark, just under his ribcage, and she watched as his eyes bugged out in pitiful surprise.
She nearly growled at him then, when she withdrew her dagger, but she turned her back on the disgusting man so she could see the raging battle.
The ship was full to bursting, and though she had once pictured battles on the decks of great pirate ships, this scene was not familiar. For starters, she had always been a bystander in Rory's pirate fantasies. When she pictured, in a fantasy land, what the outcome of a battle for gold and treasure would be, she always had seen herself in a garment of red, fabric flowing freely about her shoulders, and tied in at the waist with a string of pearls, and gold. At her feet would be scattered the bones, blood, and treasure, and by her side, Rory would hold a gleaming sword, coated in the victory he had won.
Amy never imagined that she would be the one to hold the sword, and now that she did hold a dagger in her hand, she suddenly understood the vengeance sought by every woman, mother, and girl scorned. For today, Amelia held a grudge in the palm of her right hand, and she intended to carry out justice as she saw fit.
Walking through the melee now, Amy slashed, and fell, and stabbed again. Here, a brisk walk full of intention and dignity was not afforded to even the most excellent of the fray.
There was blood in Amelia's red hair, and on her hands.
Dragging herself up off the wooden planks then, Amy's eyes found the swinging locks a brunette peace-disturber. Or rather, thief.
Perhaps there was once honor among thieves, but now even that has gone.
Creeping, Amy slunk along the deck-wall, and took a strong hold of kinked hair, wrenching the owner from the air, and swinging her down onto hard, wooden ground
After a scream, the treasonous woman stared Amy in the eyes, and she grit her teeth.
"What're you waiting for, dearie? Do it, if you can."
"You," she said, "were just one sentence in the drama of history." And these were the last words Madame Kovarian ever heard.
And as she bled out on the deck of a sixteenth-century ship of thieves, Kovarian saw the stars.
Suddenly, the universe looked a little bit smaller, and the victory she had won in River Song was killed. Doomed to die, right there on the pirate ship, next to her slowly beating heart.