are we out of the woods yet? — a hazbin hotel titanic au
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a dull, aching sort of numbness had enshrouded your hands. whether it was from the frigid breeze biting at your flesh, the unnatural coolness of the metal fused to your petrified fingers, or the chill that ran through your veins from sheer terror, you don't know—all that you could fathom was that it was cold.
so, so very cold.
you were someplace near the stern, clutching onto a railing for dear life, eyes wildly scanning the horde of people that clambered higher up the ship as the bow dipped below the surface of the ocean.
where was vincent?
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a vincent whittman (vox) titanic au
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“oh, vincent,” you breathe, entranced, taking a step away from him and toward the ship. your fingers touch the rouged flesh of your lip, utterly captivated by the enormity of the grandest moving object that had yet to grace the ocean by far.
you had never felt smaller. more miniscule. standing below the hull of a ship they had claimed to be unsinkable—it was impossible not to.
but, oh, you felt nothing but wonder as you marvelled at how humbling it felt to stand next to something of such sheer power and size.
“she’s beautiful.”
“...yeah,” vincent murmurs, though his eyes land elsewhere. “she is.”
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a vincent whittman (vox) titanic au — the prologue.
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