Ocean-liner-club

Thursday, April 18, 1912. 6:09pm. Cunard Line Pier 54, New York. A modest single-funnel steamer dropped anchor after depositing several wooden lifeboats, and passengers were let off as though nothing was wrong. Tens of thousands gathered at the pierhead waiting for news of what had happened a few days prior. A young woman sat in her darkened stateroom, her eyes fixed on a ray of dull sun peeking through the clouds. Her blood still ran cold from the ocean. The tearing of steel plates still rang in her ears. The cries of hundreds around her, fading unheard into the night, pulled fresh tears from her eyes. If one knew her already, all they would see of her now was a wrecked husk of Britain's poster girl for maritime luxury. Cara tapped on the door, her soft voice cutting through the silence. "Anna, it's nearly time to disembark. Are you ready?" ".............no," came the choked reply. "I.....I-I don't want to go out there...." "I know you don't, but I can't let you stay here. I still