Tom Hollow

DEPTHS, SHADOW, AND DAWN

It was without hatred that I fell to my death. Barnacles adorning the ship’s hull skimmed my breath as I plummeted through the darkness. I looked up and saw the moon, fractured and rippled, dancing across inky black waves that ended my fall in muted thunder. I was drummed by the impact—aware, but paralysed. Even if I remembered how to swim, bearing and gravity had been swept away, leaving me aimless in the briny dark. My heavy dress and corset fashioned me as an anchor, sinking into the deep without struggle.