Hi! I'm new here. This story is about Rose's (Titanic) great-granddaughter. I just love this movie so much! Hope you all like it. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Titanic.

Rose Calvert Miller, a fourteen year old girl, sat at a the kitchen counter one fine April morning. Her long blonde hair fell down her back and shoulders as she read her book silently. The book was 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee. Rose liked to think of herself as a "mockingbird", causing harm to no one and silently reading her book in the corner. Her mother said that things like that made her just like her great-grandmother, whom she was named after. Rose longed to know what her grandmother was like, who she was, being born a year after her grandmother's death in late '96. She didn't know anything of her, just that she was one hundred years old when she had passed, something that made Rose feel reassured. Knowing that you have healthy genes was always comforting, especially for Rose who was a complete hypochondriac. Every little bruise and bump, she questioned. Her mother had to take her to the doctor every month or so for a checkup just to make sure that she didn't have an freak diseases of some sort. Strangely, she had never been put in such a terrifying position, no car crashes, no earthquakes... nothing. In a way, she sort of longed to experience something like that.

Rose's mother, Scarlett made her way in to the kitchen. Scarlett was a beautiful woman in her early forties with a straight figure and the perfect shade of light blonde hair, which was obviously dyed but it sure did look great. Rose never really felt close to her mother, at least not in the sense that she wanted to be. Rose's father, Tim, was an Irish-Catholic man from Boston. He was of his early fifties and very wealthy... shockingly. She was never that close to him either. Rose had always felt that he had this need for her to be the best at everything. He had enrolled her in Catholic school, paid a lot of money for her piano lessons, tennis lessons... the list goes on. She had always wanted to just run free... But she couldn't.

"Mother? Do you know what today is?" Rose closed her book and looked at Scarlett.

Scarlett's green eyes were still focused on whatever she was doing. "What is today, Rose?"

"The centennial of the Titanic sinking." She had always been intrigued by that particular sinking, for some odd reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was because she had nightmares of the Titanic sinking that were so frightening, it reached the point that she would scream bloody murder. She felt the ship plunging in to the North Atlantic. She was squeezing someone's hand and holding on to him. He would scream, "Take a deep breath and hold it right before we go into the water. The ship will suck us down. Kick for the surface and keep kicking. Don't let go of

my hand. We're gonna make it Rose. Trust me." And she yelped, "I trust you!" Then Rose would look up at his face and right before the ship is sucked in to the ocean, she always woke up. When Rose awoke, she had forgotten what the boy looked like. She just remembered his voice.

"Oh, is that so?" Scarlett seemed actually very interested now.

Rose nodded, "Well, actually the sinking will be tonight. I suggest that we take a moment of silence to remember those lost."

"Actually, dear... I must tell you somethin-" Scarlett paused. "Never mind."

That was on Rose's mind for the whole day.

Rose was in her room that night when suddenly... she heard music. The music sounded as though it was from an old music box-frankly, a very old music box. She stood up in her long nightgown and walked up to the attic, where she never had the courage to go up to until that night. Rose followed the lovely music until she had reached an old music box, opened. She couldn't help but wonder who had opened that pink music box. Close to it there was a cardboard box labeled "Nana" in her Aunt Lizzy's sloppy, boyish handwriting. Delicately, Rose opened the box, finding a diary labeled, "Rose DeWitt Bukater's Diary" in perfect script. The diary was a pale pink, probably faded. It looked a bit water-damaged. After the diary, there was a drawing. The drawing was of a gorgeous young woman, naked, wearing a diamond necklace around her neck. The woman actually looked a lot like her: thick lips, hourglass figure, big eyes. At the bottom of the page, it was signed, "JD" and dated April 14, 1912. That was exactly one hundred years. Rose looked at the drawing in astonishment. Was this woman Rose DeWitt Bukater, her great-grandmother? Who was "JD"? Why was he drawing her great-grandmother? So many questions went through her mind, it was overwhelming. Rose shut her eyes.

But when her eyes shut, she couldn't see blackness, she saw the face of a handsome young man. He had blonde bangs, a sweaty forehead, and the most striking blue eyes Rose had ever seen. Suddenly, he was looking straight at her, smiling. It was like he was drawing her... Actually, he was. She knew him, he looked familiar. Rose felt like she had fallen in love in an instant. Just the way his eyes locked to her's made her heart beat faster and faster.

When Rose opened her eyes, she wasn't Rose DeWitt Bukater, she was Rose Calvert Miller, a random society girl from Philadelphia. She wondered if her thoughts were somehow connected to the past Rose's thoughts. Rose had memories of this even though she wasn't born until eighty six years later. She abrubtly opened the diary, ignoring the rain cloud of guilt that showered over her... The same one that appeared when she read Anne Frank's Diary... But this time, it was ten times worse. This was Rose DeWitt Bukater, her great-grandmother. Did she need to know? Did she really want to know? Probably, looking back, no.