The Passengers (Book #2)

𝔐𝔶 𝔅𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔉𝔬𝔤

I blow on a hot cup of strawberry-mint tea and stare at the dress box on my window seat. My phone buzzes on my nightstand.

Sehun: Talk tomorrow. Going to bed.

Okay, he's officially mad at me. He waited four whole hours to tell me that? And I get it; I'd be frustrated with me, too. I don't even know how that conversation spiraled out of control this morning or how we wound up talking about Joohyuk.

I exhale audibly. "Why are you so hard to forget? I didn't even like you at first, and here I am getting into arguments about whether or not I still have feelings for you? Total bullshit. And here I also am talking to myself for no good reason. You suck."

I put my phone down, and my eyes move back to the box. I'm just gonna put my pajamas on and not think about any of this until tomorrow."

I walk to my armoire, grab the latch, and pause. I look back at the box. We opened it before and nothing witchy happened. We took the dress out and everything. I let go of the armoire door. It can't be that dangerous to touch it if Seulgi already did, right?

I take off the box lid and grab the rose-gold silk dress. The box falls by my feet as I spread out the delicate fabric on my bed. A piece of white lace peeks out from the emerald tissue paper on the floor. I push it aside, and there are lacy shorts, a bra, a slip, and a skirt. Who sends someone historical underwear?

I run my fingers over the silk and down the seams. I'm not usually a dress fan, but even I have to admit this one is beautiful. Would it really be so bad to try it on?

I slip off my jeans and sweater and step into the dainty shorts. I slide each layer on as though I know instinctively how they fit together. Weird. Last time I tried on a dress in a store, I got my shoulders caught and had to yell for help from the changing room.

Once the delicate layers are on, I pick up the dress, pull it over my head, and—

☽🔮🕯🌕🕸✨🌙🍃🍄☾

My vision blurs, and for a split second I panic. But the panic leaves just as quickly as it came. And with one blink, the world comes back into focus, a more vibrant world than I remember.

I'm standing in front of a long oval mirror in my many undergarments. A girl just a couple of years older than me is tightening the laces on my corset. She wears a dark gray wool dress, and her long brown hair is tucked into a white cap.

Am I supposed to know who she is? I must; she's dressing me. How could I not know someone who's dressing me? My worry returns, but is quashed before it can happen. I touch my stomach as the girl gives the corset laces a strong pull.

"How am I going to eat in this thing?" Am I going to eat?

The girl winks at me. "Small bites, miss," she says in English with an accent. British? No, Irish, I think. She pulls an rose-gold dress off a black satin hanger and holds it above my head for me to slip my arms into. "This must be the prettiest dress on the whole ship."

My brain is in a thick fog, and my mouth is answering when it shouldn't. "Do I seem like myself to you?"

The long skirt glides to the floor, and she works on fastening the small buttons in the back. "Just like yerself. Only maybe a wee more elegant in this." She examines me in the mirror and runs her hands along my sides to smooth the fabric.

Her voice is reassuring, and I smile at her. "I'd be more elegant if I didn't trip in dresses."

She laughs. "Nonsense. Ya've made a singularly good impression here. There are a number o' ladies talkin' about yer fashion. And one young man in particular seems quite smitten. Come, sit down. I'll fix yer hair."