Thousands encrusted with icicles, frost in their hair. Bobbing in the frigid waves as the unsinkable progresses to the bottom of the abyss; a place where no light will ever reach the once decadent rooms decorated with the finest furniture money could buy in all of Europe. The hopes and dreams for a new world, a new beginning, a new life fades away just as the life fades from the eyes of those still gasping for breath; gasping for life. The rich and the poor, together, slow their movements. Joints become rigid. All will eventually become porcelain dolls. Smooth skin, expressionless, yet perfect; as if untouched by tragedy. There in the water, rich and poor died side by side. The ocean didn’t spare mercy for those with more paper in their pocket than others; it knows not the difference. And as each cried out to the lifeboats that drifted and watched as the water became placid and motionless, each became aware that salvation would never come. Most families had already said their goodbyes as one was assured of life, while the other was sentenced to death. But some never had the chance. Thrown either into a lifeboat or dragged into the murky depths, they were torn from those they had loved. Doomed to wonder not only what will happen to themselves, but what will happen to those engraved into their degenerating hearts. With this hopelessness, they let go. No more frantic splashing, no more crying out for a hand to pull them from water, and eventually, no more life.