The last thing Malou saw before her face disappeared in the salty sea water was Mr. Prewett's horror struck eyes. They would haunt her dreams in the months to come as would be panic as she struggled against the surging water. She flailed, feeling the cord of her reticle twist and tighten painfully around her wrist, only the tangled mess keeping it from being pulled away. She kicked, desperately at her skirts, at the water, at anything that could propel her upwards, but she was pulled further and further toward the crumbled remains of the kitchen.

One of her kicks met resistence, the fabric of her gown or petticoats stuck on something, her eyes stinging at with seawater couldn't make out what it was, but she couldn't breathe. Panic began to overtake her as she tugged and tugged at the skirts. It didn't budge. If she could have cried she would have, but instead her numbed fingers tried to reach for the reticule, hoping to blast herself away from the water with a wand. Head throbbing, air gone, water tugging at her, feeling the metal clasp of the reticule was the last thing she recalled before she lost conciousness.