Chapter Text
You laid in your bed until the very last minute. There was no urgency to meet the worst day of your life. You’d cried all night and now you were fresh out of tears, couldn’t possibly make anymore if you’d tried. Your eyes were red and puffy and hurt when you squeezed them tight shut. Your bed was a welcoming comfort, despite the heavy topic that dug into your mind. Would you have as comfortable a bed where you were bound for? You sighed and sniffled. You stuff your head under your pillow as if you could drown out this moment in its fluff. You pull the white down comforter over your head to further disappear. To further distance yourself from the inevitable.
The truth was… there was a way out of this. You were the most powerful devil fruit user on your island. Maybe the most powerful person on your island, period, devil fruits or no. If you were a different kind of a person, you wouldn’t put yourself through such misery. You could refuse Big Mom’s invitation to her Tea Party. She’d send your step brother’s head to your adoptive parents in a nicely wrapped gift box. And the world would keep on turning. You’d never liked your brother anyways. He was such a dirty, no good, prick. You have no friends. There would be no one except perhaps a few kind servants whose severed heads you’d mourn over. It’s not that you didn’t appreciate any attempt of kindness that your adoptive parents had given you over the years… but let’s face it, no one liked you.
You were more trouble than it was ever worth. Too much trouble to befriend. No one in this kingdom would even bother sparing its princess a passing nod. What did they think you’d do, you thought to yourself, flay them alive? If you were a different person, you’d say ‘no’ to this ordeal and watch the world burn. But that wasn’t you. Though you ‘could’ enslave your island and make everyone do your bidding, you wouldn’t. They call you a monster, but that’s so far from the truth. Your brother was the real monster.. But he was allowed to go wherever he wanted.
You liked it better when you weren’t a princess. But that was a long time ago. You’d been sent to this kingdom at a young age. You can’t recall your real mother’s face, or her name. If you try, you can make out the shape of your father’s. If you were allowed to do some research on him, you may even find out who he was. The only information you’d received from the king and queen, your adoptive parents, was that he was a pirate killed by the navy. His last wish was to see you taken care of. And they were given enough coin to save their island from bankruptcy. That’s right. This island became the massive, weapon producing, rich country because of you. This country was poor until one of your father’s crew mates dropped you and your father’s money on their shore. Yet you were forbidden to learn about him and every piece of evidence that he ever existed was scrubbed from the library and forbidden to be spoken of.
You saved this country. A country that hates you because of what you can’t control. That was another “gift” from your father. Though this gift, you weren’t sure you’d ever grow to appreciate. You remember coming to your new home like it was yesterday. The feelings of uncertainty. Being shown your new room in a castle that would grow to resent you. One final parting gift from your father. It was a good sized box, about as big as your then child-sized head. It had gold paper and a magnificent red ribbon that you saved to this day. You touched your wrist for a moment, where the now tattered red ribbon was tied like a bracelet. Attached to the ribbon was a note, a small card that now and forever remained inside your diary in the drawer of your bedside table. You made a mental note to bring that along on your trip. You imagined this was a one way trip. You were never getting the option to ever return. This was the last few moments you’d ever have in this room.
That felt both good, and horrible. You never felt truly free. You had a private education away from other children, like a princess. You had guarded visits in the gardens in which you had to be veiled for. Twice, someone had come to assassinate you during one of your garden visits. Which were both obviously unsuccessful thanks to your devil fruit powers. Sometimes they kick in all by themselves in your moments of panic and anxiety. Being in a country that hated you gave you lots of anxiety. True freedom was never in the cards for you. You dreamt of the day you’d turn of age and sail across the sea, visiting every island, meeting people more like you. People who would appreciate your abilities. And your abilities weren’t all bad! You’re a great healer! Sometimes the effects were temporary which led to the false accusations of witchcraft.
Once… you had done your very best to heal a child of his illness. That image was seared into your brain forever. His pale face, his blue lips, your hands over the child’s body working your ability. You ‘felt’ it working. You willed the darkness from him and filled it with light. You felt ‘life’ coming back to him and death retreating. And for 3 days, you and his family enjoyed hearing his laughter again. Until… well… the only person you seem to be able to heal permanently was yourself. Which was a good thing. You’d been beaten by the king and your brother more than you’d ever care to admit. The child… first he became sick again. So you were called once again to heal him. Back then… the people still thought of you as a gift. Still believed in you. Back when you still believed in you!
The child’s face was skeletal. You should have left that kid alone to die, you never should have touched him. But they begged for your help. Your heart bled for that family. All you did was prolong his pain and his parent’s pain. And for what??? 3 more days of joy?? Death from disease would have been a kindness compared to what you did to that kid. The worst part was… after he’d finally died in agony, despite everything you tried to do for him, you felt… powerful. Alive. And it made you sick. You didn’t eat for a week after. You were tried for treachery and witchcraft. You were found guilty and sentenced to die in prison. But it just wouldn’t look good to have a princess rot in jail. So you had to live your life in your room. In a tower. Away from people.
Soon.. people forgot what you did. People’s memories are always so fickle. All they remembered of you was what they’d made up in their minds. You were the beautiful devil princess. That’s what they called you. Only the devil would disguise himself with such beauty to hide his menace. The devil. That was you. But it was so so far from the truth. You loved your people, even when they hated you. Even when they yelled “Don’t look upon her beauty! She will melt you!” You didn’t even have a mirror in your room. Your servants were superstitious that way.
How could your life be any worse than it was now? Well it could be! And it was about to be! For one, more recently, due to your coming-of-age, you’d noticed a change in your step brother that wholly unsettles you. The way he’d grabbed you differently. He had even pressed his lips to your neck once. But at least here, your torture was dependable and familiar. There’s comfort in familiarity. You’d known your dream of setting to sea was only that, a dream, nothing more. You knew if the king and queen ever had the opportunity to dump you onto someone else, they would! They couldn’t wait for you to be someone else’s problem. No one else ever knew about your abilities. You were the perfect match for any unwitting husband. No one could deny your beauty. Which is why you were veiled most of the time, especially during your routine beatings. Whenever the veil slipped, the beatings would stop. Because who could strike such a face as yours? With that knowledge getting out of beatings became easier. All you had to do was put all effort into getting the veil off. That worked until they chained it around your face.
You’d read every book in the castle and never once found logic to beating the devil fruit powers out of you. If anything, it only made it harder to contain your abilities. You’d feel yourself floating from one consciousness to another in that moment, holding onto your sanity was so difficult. But not impossible. You supposed what scared people was what they couldn’t understand. You were a mystery, even to yourself. When people are scared they lash out. You deserved it all and more… for the unfortunate death of that little boy. That’s what you told yourself when the beatings got bad. That’s what you’d remind yourself of as you’d stand, naked, in your room healing yourself until your flesh was smooth and perfect once again. You ran a finger awkwardly up your spine. There was only one scar you could never heal. A scar from birth you supposed. It had always been there. The only imperfection you owned. You figured since you’d had it before you ate the devil fruit, that scar was for life. You wondered what your husband would think of it on your wedding night. Would you be considered hideous because of it? Would he demand a separation and claim he was misled? You secretly hoped so.
You’d heard rumors about The Big Mom Pirates and their ruthlessness. Their slaughter of the innocent. If they slaughter children, you could only imagine what they do to their wives. Of all the possible futures you’d envisioned… an arranged marriage? It seemed like an easy way out for your adoptive parents. You’d bet The Big Mom Pirates wanted the island’s production of guns and half its wealth written into your dowry. You’d also bet you’d have to have children. How could you possibly care for a child when you couldn’t save that little boy?
One thing was certain. You weren’t afraid. You never feared pain or death. Your father’s gift to you. A gift you still fail to completely understand to this day. What exactly did you eat? What kind of a devil fruit was it? You pull the pillow off your head and kick off your comforter. You swing your legs around to the side of the bed and open the drawer of your side table. You pull out your brown leather bound diary. When you open it, the card falls out. It’s in your father’s hand writing. It’s worn with age but you’ve kept it nicely so it’s still legible. You read it again, though you know the words by heart, you like to see the words in your father’s pen. ‘My Love, Eat This and Live. -Your Father’ and that was all it said. You run your finger over the words ‘my love’ because once, someone had loved you. Once, but not since. Why would someone who loved you give you such a horrible gift? Of course you ate it without a thought. You were young and naive. Why father? Why would he do this to you?
Had you not eaten that fruit… would anything be different? It was hard to say. The queen would still be self-centered, stuck up, and think her son could do no wrong. The king would still be cold, distant and heartless. Your step-brother would still steal from, rape and berate his citizens. Who did he think he was anyways? A Celestial Dragon? You roll your eyes. Would your people have loved you though? You shook your head. There was no point in dwelling on the past and futures that were never meant to be. Your future was clear, no matter how many times you hid under your comforter. You were going to Whole Cake Island. You were leaving today.