Chapter Text
April 1912: New York
The docks of New York Harbour reeked of salt and coal. The RMS Titanic loomed above the crowds, her four funnels piercing the blue sky. Banners fluttered. Flags waved. Brass bands played. And the same tiresome gushing echoed from every lace-collared woman and top-hatted man in sight:
“The grandest ocean liner ever built!”
“Unsinkable, they say!”
“How extraordinarily lucky for anyone taking her maiden voyage today!”
Wednesday Addams stood motionless amid the chaos, her black dress buttoned to her throat, braids fastened at the nape of her neck, black parasol in the air. She surveyed the gleaming behemoth utterly unimpressed. Lucky. The word tasted like ash. If this floating monument to human arrogance was the height of fortune, she would gladly trade it for a quiet grave.
Behind her, the rest of the Addams family appeared much more enthusiastic.
Her father twirled his moustache, eyes gleaming as he gestured expansively. “Tish, look at her! Fourteen stories high, they say. Swimming pool, gymnasium, Turkish baths! We shall dance the tango in the grand saloon while the Atlantic trembles beneath us!”
Her mother glided forward in a gown the colour of midnight, one hand resting on Gomez's arm. “It does have a certain elegant morbidity, darling. All that steel waiting to meet the sea. Like a beautiful coffin.”
Her grandmother, Hester Frump, sniffed, clutching her black fur stole as if the dock might soil it. “It had better justify the expense. The Thorpe family expects nothing less than perfection for this crossing. They're probably already checking into their suites. We should hurry and check in ourselves."
Wednesday’s grip tightened on her small black bag. Inside lay her few comforts: vials of a few of her favourite poisons, a dog-eared copy of The Raven, and the silk cord she had braided into a noose during one particularly dull engagement tea. Her thoughts drifted, dark and resigned, to the reason they were even here. Her grandmother and the Thorpes had spent months engineering this match…merging two of the Northeast’s most prominent and wealthy psychic families. The Addams/Frumps and the Thorpes: A union to strengthen bloodlines, consolidate influence, and produce heirs who would supposedly eclipse them all.
In two weeks, she would marry Xavier Thorpe at one of his family's sprawling English estates. Her family and the American branch of the Thorpes had chosen Titanic's maiden voyage as the suitably grand procession to Southampton before continuing on to the estate. Apparently, nothing less than the world's most celebrated new ocean liner would suffice for a marriage between their families.
Wednesday would much rather drown.
Morticia turned to her with a graceful tilt of her head. “Darling, I am so very happy that Enid has joined us, but it would have been nice if some more of your friends from school were able to attend the wedding.”
Pugsley snorted. “She only has one friend.”
Wednesday’s expression didn’t change. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, brother. Honestly, even having one friend can be too much sometimes.” She gestured with her parasol toward Enid Sinclair, who was striking dramatic poses for the swarm of newspaper photographers clustered near the gangway, her bright pink coat standing out against the monochrome crowd.
“Enid,” Wednesday called out, her voice flat but carrying, “hurry up. We’re boarding. I will be horribly envious if you missed it whilst I get imprisoned on this floating cage.”
Enid spun around with a bright grin, waving apologetically to the photographers before jogging over. “Sorry! We don’t all have ridiculously wealthy fiancés, Wednesday. I’m hoping Prince Edward sees a photo of me in the newspaper and comes to court me as soon as we arrive in England.”
Hester gave a delicate, disapproving sniff. “Miss Sinclair, do try to conduct yourself with some decorum. We are about the board first class, not attend a vaudeville act.”
"Y—Yes, Mrs Frump," Enid stammered quickly. "I apologise."
Gomez clapped his hands together. “Enough chatter, my dark family! Onward! The Titanic awaits!"
The family ascended the grand gangway, the crowd parting instinctively. Lurch, Varicose and Wednesday's Lady's maid - Agnes - followed behind, manoeuvring mountains of trunks.
As Wednesday stepped from the gangway onto the ship’s deck, she felt the trap close around her. The polished wood beneath her boots might as well have been the lid of a coffin slamming shut. Every creak of the massive vessel, every distant cheer from the docks below, tightened the invisible noose at her throat. There was no escape now. Just days on this floating mausoleum carrying her toward England, toward the Thorpe estate, and toward a future wrapped in silk, tediously shallow conversation and suffocating expectation.
She lifted her chin, refusing to let any trace of her worry show on her face.
First class was every bit as gaudy as she had feared: sweeping staircases of polished oak and wrought iron, glittering chandeliers that caught the afternoon light. Somewhere a string quartet was already playing, notes drifting down the grand staircase.
The people matched the decor. Women in pastel silks and enormous feathered hats, trailing perfume so strong it made Wednesday feel a little nauseated. Men in tailored suits discussed shipping tonnage and their stock portfolios. Everyone was smiling. Wednesday found this the most alarming detail of all.
She analysed them as if she were dissecting specimens. The dowager clutching a lapdog wearing a diamond collar probably worth more than some people's homes. The young heiress giggling behind a fan at a man who was definitely at least thirty years her senior. Two weeks from now, she would be expected to smile like that. The thought made her want to throw herself overboard immediately.
A woman in an immaculate navy uniform strode toward them. Her almost white blonde hair was swept up into a slick updo. Her brass White Star Line name badge caught the light: L. Weems, Chief Stewardess, First Class.
"Mr and Mrs Addams," she smiled gracefully. "And Mrs Frump, always a pleasure. Welcome aboard the Titanic. We are absolutely delighted to have the Addams/Frump family with us for her maiden voyage."
"Larissa, darling!" Morticia gleamed. "You look radiant. Command suits you."
"Someone has to keep this ship running while the men take credit for it," Larissa said dryly.
Her gaze swept over the family, pausing briefly on Wednesday with a flicker of curiosity beflore moving on. "I trust your journey to the docks was pleasant. Now, shall I have the pleasure of showing you to your accommodations? I know the crossing is a long one, and I would hate for you to spend any longer than necessary standing in this crowd."
"Please," Hester said, fanning herself. "The commotion is giving me a headache… and not in the good way."
Larissa began walking, and the family fell into step behind her.
"I don't know if you're aware," she said, raising her voice slightly to carry over the noise, "but the Titanic is the largest moving object ever built by human hands. 885 feet and 46 thousand tons. She is, without exaggeration, the most luxurious vessel ever put to sea." She paused and gestured to the grand staircase. "We are the first ship of our size to feature first-class amenities like a swimming pool, spa, gymnasium and the first to have an electric passenger elevator."
"A swimming pool?" Pugsley asked, perking up for the first time since the docks. "Is it electrified?"
"…No," Larissa said after a pause that suggested she decided not to ask. "It is heated, however."
Wednesday said nothing. She kept following at the back, cataloguing exits.
"Your suits are on B and C decks," Larissa continued, leading them toward a smaller staircase draped in velvet rope. "Among the finest accommodations on the ship…private promenades, sitting rooms, and full service from your own steward. Please let me know personally, though, if there is anything at all you require during the voyage."
"How thoughtful," Morticia smiled in appreciation.
"One more thing," Larissa added. "Captain Dort has requested that your family and the Thorpes join him at his table for dinner this evening. He's quite insistent. Says he wouldn't dream of the maiden voyage's most distinguished families dining anywhere else."
Hester let out a sharp, delighted laugh. "Barry always did have excellent taste in company. This will be my sixth crossing under his command."
Wednesday trailed a step behind them all, already dreading the dinner conversation that awaited. It was always the same tedious dribble.
They stopped first outside a polished mahogany door. Larissa produced a key.
"Mrs Frump, your suite."
Hester swept inside, cane tapping against the floor as she surveyed the room…the large four-poster bed, the fireplace, the sitting area with its velvet-upholstered chairs.
"Hmm." She turned in a small circle. "I suppose it will need to be acceptable. Though I must say, it looked considerably more impressive in the brochures."
"I do apologise if it fails to meet expectations, Mrs Frump," Larissa said smoothly, as if she had said that exact sentence to many other picky passengers before. "I will look into whether we can move some other passengers to make you more comfortable."
Hester waved a dismissive hand. "It will do." She turned toward the doorway where Varicose stood laden with trunks. "Don't just stand there, Varicose. Start unpacking, and make sure my jewellery goes in the safe."
Varicose gave a low grunt of acknowledgement and shuffled Hester's trunks inside.
As the rest of the family moved down the corridor with Larissa, Hester's hand shot out and closed around Wednesday's wrist.
"A moment, Wednesday."
Wednesday allowed herself to be drawn aside, her expression as carefully blank as ever.
Hester waited until the others were out of earshot, then lowered her voice, though it lost none of its edge. "I need not remind you how much we have riding on this. You know precisely why it's so important… for this family, for the estate, and for everything I have spent decades building and am on the cusp of losing." Her grip tightened fractionally. "While you know I personally have always adored your sharp tongue and your rather brilliant capacity for insult, my dear, the Thorpes do not share our family's sense of humour. They are old money, old psychic blood, and old sensibilities…and they will be watching you very closely tonight and for the entire crossing."
She released Wednesday's wrist, smoothing the sleeve of her own gown.
"Tonight you will dress elegantly. You will not talk about anything morbid. You will be unfailingly respectful to his family. And my God, Wednesday—" her eyes narrowed "—you will be nice to that boy for once. I know it’s difficult, he is… underwhelming, but please, just try.”
Wednesday held her grandmother's gaze without blinking. Nice. The word sounded foreign in her mind. She had been called clever, unsettling, morbid, occasionally frightening… but never once in her seventeen years had anyone accused her of being nice, and she wanted to keep it that way. However, if there was one person in the world she would ever consider taking advice from, it would be her grandmothger. So finally, she reluctantly gave a single, stiff nod.
“Yes, Grandmama,” she said, her voice flat and lifeless.
Hester’s severe expression melted into a satisfied smile. “I knew I could count on you. You’re my favourite in the family for a reason.”
Uncomfortable heat prickled at the back of Wednesday's neck, but she pushed the feeling down where it belonged…buried beneath layers of cold resolve. Without another word, she gave her grandmother one final nod, turned and rejoined the others.
Larissa was waiting patiently further down the corridor, hands clasped behind her back. She led them to the largest suite on the deck, unlocking the door with a flourish.
The Addams parents’ accommodations were suitably extravagant: a grand sitting room with velvet settees and a marble fireplace, two separate bedrooms branching off it, and wide windows offering a sweeping view of the harbour. Pugsley’s smaller adjoining room featured its own writing desk and what appeared to be a very sturdy-looking bed…perfect, Wednesday noted, for hiding explosives.
“Magnificent!” Gomez declared, already spinning Morticia into a dramatic dip. “We shall christen every inch of it, my love.”
Morticia laughed softly. “Later, mon cher. We still have an audience.”
Both Wednesday and Pugsley gave horrified grimmaces. Larissa’s lips twitched in amusement before she gestured for the group to follow her again. A short distance down the hall, she opened a more modest door.
“And this is Miss Sinclair’s stateroom.”
Enid’s room was noticeably smaller - one bedroom with a single sitting area - but still far more luxurious than anything she was used to. The bed was draped in crisp white linens, the porthole gleamed, and fresh flowers sat on a polished side table.
Enid let out a high-pitched squeal of delight, clapping her hands. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing! Look at the little writing desk! And the bathroom has real marble!” She whirled toward Wednesday, eyes sparkling. “I want to travel with your family all the time. First class is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”
She went inside and immediately began spinning in the middle of the room, arms outstretched. “I will see you later, Wednesday! I only have four hours to get ready for dinner!” She said it with the same gravity someone might use to announce an impending apocalypse.
Wednesday merely arched an eyebrow. “A fate worse than death, I’m sure.”
Larissa hid a smile and motioned for Wednesday to follow. They continued down the corridor until the stewardess stopped before another polished mahogany door, this one slightly more secluded than the others.
“Your suite, Miss Addams.” Larissa unlocked it and stepped aside with professional grace. “I hope it meets with your approval. Should you need anything at all, simply ring for me.”
Wednesday stepped inside. The room was elegant in that stifling, over-decorated way she despised…rich wood panelling, a large bed with far too many pillows, and a sitting area complete with a writing desk and velvet chaise. At least the colour scheme was dark enough to avoid giving her an allergic reaction.
“Thank you,” she said curtly.
Larissa gave a small nod and withdrew, closing the door softly behind her.
Agnes was already waiting inside, hovering near the pile of trunks that had been delivered. The lady’s maid straightened at once.
“Miss Wednesday.”
“Unpack my belongings, Agnes,” Wednesday instructed, voice flat. “I need some air.”
“Yes, Miss Wednesday.”
As Wednesday turned to leave, she paused by the doorway and pointed a pale finger at the largest, most ominous-looking trunk in the corner. “And do not try to lift that one on your own. It contains my weapons. It’s heavy.”
Agnes blinked once but otherwise showed no reaction. Her time in the Addams household had long since burned the surprise out of her. “Very good, miss.”
Wednesday stepped back into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind her. She tightened her grip on her parasol and started walking, no particular destination in mind…just knowing she needed an immediate rest from her suffocating family.
The corridors of first class felt like a maze. Wednesday moved through them purposefully until she found a doorway leading out onto the first-class promenade deck. The sea air hit her immediately…cold, sharp, and laced with salt. For the first time since boarding, she felt she could breathe.
She walked along the polished wooden deck, black dress fluttering slightly in the breeze. The ship’s strict class divisions were impossible to ignore. First class had this wide, elegant promenade with its comfortable deck chairs and sweeping views. Second class had its own more modest deck. Third class was relegated to the lower levels, completely cut off from the upper world. Passengers from the lower decks were not permitted here.
Wednesday’s lip curled in quiet disdain. They built a floating palace and then immediately divided it into gilded cages, as though proximity to wealth might contaminate the rich. She found the entire system both predictable and pathetic.
She drifted toward the railing and leaned over it, looking down at the third-class deck far below. The contrast was immediate and almost jarring.
Down there, children ran freely, laughing and chasing one another in wild games. A group of boys kicked a ragged ball across the deck while girls skipped rope and called out to each other in half a dozen languages. Their joy was loud, messy, and completely unrestrained. For a moment, Wednesday almost envied them.
She glanced back toward her own deck. A well-dressed mother in a cream-coloured gown was scolding her young son, who had dared to run instead of walking sedately. “Proper etiquette, William! How many times must I remind you?” The boy’s shoulders slumped as he was marched back toward a deck chair like a prisoner being returned to his cell.
Wednesday’s grip tightened on the railing. The children above were being slowly suffocated by manners and expectation. The children below were simply alive.
She turned away from the railing overlooking third class and moved further along the promenade until she reached a quieter stretch. The vast Atlantic stretched out before her, an endless expanse of deep, cold blue that glittered under the afternoon sun.
She stared out at the horizon. For one small, tempting second, she wanted nothing more than to climb onto the railing and let herself fall. No more weddings. No more expectations. No more tedious conversations about bloodlines and propriety. Just the cold embrace of the sea and the sweet silence that would follow.
The thought was almost comforting.
But Wednesday Addams did not do things the easy way. She exhaled slowly, pushing the dark impulse back into its proper place.
Behind her, the first-class passengers continued their cheerful promenade, oblivious to the girl in black who had just quietly considered trading their floating palace for a watery grave.
Wednesday straightened her posture, turned her back on the sea, and began walking back toward the suites. Dinner with the Thorpes - and her performance as the dutiful bride-to-be - awaited.
…
"Tighter, Agnes."
Wednesday stood in front of the full-length mirror in her suite as her lady’s maid wrestled with the laces of her corset. The black silk and lace gown she had chosen hung ready on the wardrobe door…elegant enough to satisfy her grandmother, severe enough to suit her own tastes.
Agnes grunted with effort, pulling hard. “Miss Wednesday, if I do it any tighter you won’t be able to breathe.”
“That’s the point."
A soft knock sounded at the door. Agnes released the laces with visible relief and hurried to answer it. Morticia stood in the doorway, radiant in a black gown.
“Could I have a moment alone with my daughter, Agnes?” Morticia asked, her voice warm and smooth.
“Of course, Mrs Addams.” Agnes bobbed a quick curtsy and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.
Wednesday immediately reached behind her back, trying to finish tightening the corset herself. The stiff boning dug into her ribs like a comforting cage. In the mirror, she watched her mother glide closer. Morticia had that look on her face…the soft, knowing expression she wore when she was about to say something irritatingly understanding or affectionate.
Morticia took over without a word, her long fingers pulling the corset laces. She drew them tighter and tighter with practiced ease, the kind of pressure that would have left most girls gasping. Wednesday barely flinched. All Addams women appreciated a good, suffocating corset…pain was simply another sensation to be savoured.
Her mother let out a sigh. "You don't seem happy, darling."
"I'm never happy, mother," Wednesday said simply. "It is one of your favourite things about me."
Morticia watched her daughter through the mirror with a rueful expression on her features. “Still... you don’t have to do this, you know.”
“I like the corset,” Wednesday replied, eyes fixed on her reflection. “The pain reminds me that I’m still alive.”
Morticia paused for a moment, then continued tightening. “I meant marrying Xavier. I know that you idolise your grandmama, but you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We’re Addams. We are resilient and will work something out.”
Wednesday’s expression remained impassive. “I’m not like you, mother. I will never fall in love. If marriage is going to be inevitable and a business transaction, then it might as well be one that will be of benefit to us.”
Morticia’s hands stilled. She looked genuinely concerned in the mirror. “Wednesday, that’s not—”
Wednesday stepped away from her mother’s grasp and crossed the room. She slipped into the black gown, the heavy silk settling coldly against her skin. “If we are done with this discussion, could you please do up the buttons for me? You have sent Agnes away.”
Morticia hesitated, then gave a quiet, resigned sigh. "Very well." She moved behind Wednesday once more and began fastening the long row of buttons with careful fingers. When she finished, she met her daughter’s eyes in the mirror and smiled gently.
“You look beautiful, my darling.”
Morticia blew a small air kiss, then stepped out of the suite without another word, the door clicking shut behind her.
Wednesday remained alone, staring at her reflection. The girl in the mirror looked perfectly composed…elegant, untouchable. Yet something uneasy twisted low in her stomach, a feeling she refused to name. She held her own gaze for a long moment, jaw tight, before turning sharply away from the mirror.
…
That night, the grand reception area outside the first-class dining saloon glittered. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over richly dressed passengers, laughter and the clink of champagne glasses filling the air. The women dripped in jewels and silk, while the men preened in their tailored evening wear. Wednesday found the whole display nauseating.
The Addams family had only just arrived when Wednesday’s gaze landed on the Thorpes. They were already waiting near the entrance: Vincent Thorpe, tall and imposing with silver-streaked hair; his wife Cassandra, elegant and sharp-eyed; and their son Xavier, looking every bit the polished heir in his crisp black tuxedo that was a little big on his lanky frame.
Pleasantries were exchanged. Gomez shook Vincent’s hand with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm, while Morticia offered Cassandra a graceful smile.
Xavier broke away from his parents and approached Wednesday directly. A small, hopeful smile curved his lips as he leaned in close.
“Wednesday,” he murmured as he pressed a light kiss to her cheek.
Internally, she flinched. The touch still sent an unpleasant ripple across her skin, but she had long since calculated that allowing these small concessions was preferable to causing a scene. Refusing him publicly would only invite lectures. So she remained still, her expression a mask of cool indifference.
“You look stunning tonight,” Xavier said, pulling back but staying close enough that she could smell his cologne.
Wednesday offered the faintest tilt of her head in acknowledgement. “Xavier.”
Larissa Weems appeared at the perfect moment. With a graceful smile, she gestured toward the grand double doors.
“If you’ll all please follow me, Captain Dort is expecting you.”
She escorted the combined party into the extravagant first-class dining saloon. The room was breathtaking in its opulence: towering pillars, ornate gilded ceilings, and tables dressed in pristine white linen and sparkling silver. Soft music from a string quartet drifted through the air.
Captain Dort rose promptly from the head of the long table, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.
“Welcome! Welcome!” he exclaimed warmly. “The Addams and Thorpe families - truly, it is an honour to have two of America’s most distinguished lineages aboard the Titanic for her maiden voyage.”
He turned his attention first to the Thorpes, his smile broadening. “Mr and Mrs Thorpe, Xavier…your family’s reputation precedes you. It is a great privilege to host such esteemed passengers on this historic crossing. We are truly delighted to have you with us.”
Only after thoroughly gushing over the Thorpes did Captain Dort shift his gaze to Hester, his expression still warm but slightly more familiar.
“And of course, Mrs Frump. It is always a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for joining us once more.”
Hester gave a gracious nod. “You remember my daughter Morticia and her husband Gomez.”
“Of course,” Dort replied, taking Morticia’s gloved hand and kissing it. “A pleasure as always.”
Hester continued smoothly, “And these are my grandchildren. Pugsley is fourteen, and Wednesday will be eighteen this Saturday.”
Wednesday felt every eye turn toward her. She stood perfectly still, her black gown absorbing the light like a void, expression unreadable. Inside, she was already counting the minutes until this performance could end.
Captain Dort smiled kindly at her. “A very happy early birthday, Miss Addams. We shall have to do something special on Saturday."
Enid smiled excitedly at what she probably thought was the prospect of a party. Wednesday simply gave the captain a small, stiff nod.
Captain Dort gestured toward the table with an expansive smile. "Please, everyone. Let us dine."
Stewards stepped forward in practiced unison, holding chairs as the guests took their places. Xavier reached Wednesday's chair before one of the stewards could.
"Allow me."
Without waiting for permission, he pulled the chair out for her.
Wednesday regarded him for a brief moment before sitting unenthusiastically.
"Thank you," she said, her voice perfectly flat.
"My pleasure." He gently slid the chair forward before taking the seat beside her.
Captain Dort settled himself at the head of the table while waiters in white blazers began pouring champagne and sparkling water. Almost immediately, conversation blossomed around the table.
"So," Xavier said quietly, leaning slightly toward her, "how are you finding your accommodations?"
Wednesday picked up her water glass. "Perfectly comfortable." She paused just long enough for him to hope she might say something pleasant. "...unfortunately."
Xavier blinked, then gave a small, awkward chuckle. “You do know that we’re engaged,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “It would have been perfectly appropriate for us to share a suite.”
Wednesday turned her head just enough to fix him with a cold, unimpressed stare. “I didn’t want to rush things.”
“Right… it’s not as if we’re getting married in two weeks,” Xavier muttered. Wednesday could feel the faint edge of frustration radiating off him, though he tried to hide it behind a polite smile.
She tuned him out and turned her attention to the larger conversation flowing around the table. Captain Dort was speaking with Vincent Thorpe, asking detailed questions about his latest business ventures and the state of the family’s psychic enterprises. Thorpe answered with the smooth confidence of old money.
Then Captain Dort’s gaze shifted down the table with a warm smile.
“And Master Pugsley,” he said brightly, “what do you wish to do when you finish school?”
Hester’s eyes had already narrowed dangerously. Pugsley had one hand suspiciously deep in his jacket pocket, no doubt reaching for something explosive, flammable, or otherwise illegal. At the captain’s question, he paused, then pulled his hand back out…empty.
“I want to be a lawyer,” Pugsley answered cheerfully, “just like my dad.”
Gomez let out a loud, proud noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “That’s my boy!” he declared, beaming as he clapped a hand on Pugsley’s shoulder.
Morticia smiled serenely beside him, while Hester looked mildly relieved that no small detonation had occurred at the Captain’s table. Wednesday was disappointed. An explosion was the only thing that may have made this night tolerable.
Captain Dort gave a hearty chuckle, nodding approvingly. “That’s good, that’s good. It’s important for young men to have ambition and work ahead of them.”
Wednesday’s voice cut through the table like a blade.
“And what about young women?”
A small, awkward silence fell over the group. Silverware paused mid-air. Several heads turned toward her.
Captain Dort cleared his throat, clearly trying to recover the pleasant atmosphere. “Well, Miss Addams… have you finished school this past fall?”
“I have,” Wednesday confirmed coolly.
Dort smiled, attempting to be jovial. “Lucky girl like you, having a rich fiancé already. You won’t need to bother with college at all.”
“I want to go to college,” Wednesday said, her tone flat but firm.
Cassandra Thorpe let out a light, tinkling laugh. “Wednesday, dear… The only reason for a young woman to go to college is to meet a husband… which you already have.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s not the only reason. More and more women are enrolling in universities intending to have careers.”
Cassandra laughed again, this time with a touch of condescension. “Oh, please ignore her, Captain. Wednesday knows that Thorpe women do not work.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Morticia’s jaw tightened. Hester’s expression grew icy. Even Enid, usually so bubbly, stared at Cassandra with a rare look of disapproval. No one spoke.
Wednesday slowly placed her napkin on the table and rose from her chair.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, voice cold and perfectly polite.
She moved swiftly out of the dining saloon, her black gown whispering against the polished floor. Once she was beyond the heavy doors, the tight corset and the weight of all those expectant, condescending eyes finally caught up with her. She paced down the corridor, then pushed through a doorway onto the open deck, desperate for air.
The night wind hit her sharply, cold and salty. Still, it wasn’t enough. Her chest felt too constricted, the boning of the corset digging in like iron bars. The dizziness came in waves. She needed to get away…farther from the Thorpes, from the polite smiles, from Cassandra’s dismissive laugh.
Without thinking, Wednesday gathered her skirts and moved faster, descending staircases and slipping through passageways until she reached the third-class deck at the very stern of the ship. The area was quieter now, most passengers having gone inside for the evening. She pushed forward until she reached the very back railing, the vast black ocean stretching out endlessly behind the churning propellers.
Her hands gripped the wooden railing tightly, knuckles turning white. She leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut, trying to centre herself. The world spun. Her lungs burned. She couldn’t breathe properly…the corset was too tight, the dinner conversation too suffocating, the future pressing down on her like the weight of the entire Atlantic.
For several long moments she simply held on, breathing in short, shallow gasps as the wind whipped at her skin and the distant roar of the engines thrummed beneath her feet.
Then, without warning, a psychic vision slammed into her.
Chaos.
The grand ship groaned like a dying beast as it tilted sharply, the bow plunging deeper into the black water. Screams tore through the freezing night air, hundreds of voices raw with terror. People slid across the slanted decks, clawing desperately for anything to hold onto. The lights flickered and died one by one, plunging everything into darkness broken only by the moon and dying emergency lamps.
Water surged over the rails. Bodies plunged into the icy Atlantic. The cold was merciless. People thrashed in the water, gasping, screaming, then falling silent as the freezing temperatures stole their strength. Lifeboats drifted away half-empty while hundreds were left behind on the sinking decks.
The stern rose higher and higher into the sky. Hundreds of terrified voices cried out in unison.
Then everything went black.