AN: Been in a bit of a funk lately regarding my One Piece works and was hoping to find a little inspiration amongst my old files. This is an OC-centric story regarding a character meant to be an antagonist for a fic I'm not sure will ever see the light of day. It's not uncommon for me to type up backstories for my important OCs so that I can write them better in my main works. What positive effect this has on my productivity is minimal, but I really do find it helpful when trying to hammer out the nuances of my secondary characters.

The difference between this and my other ongoing works is that this is actually finished with a total of six chapters. I'll post ever couple of days and by doing so hopefully get back in the groove of writing and editing on a regular basis. For those of you who, like me, don't like OC stories, that's okay, but I hope you stick around regardless as I feel this bucks the traditional formula. For those of you who do decide to put up with my nonsense, I'd ask that you leave a review telling me your thoughts. They really do inspire me to continue and to strive for improvement.


Joan Nightingale picked up her quill for the fifth time, determined that this would be the time she actually fond the strength to put words on the blank sheet of parchment that lay in front of her. She had no idea why she was so nervous. She had thought through every possibility and deemed this the best course of action. The decision was already made. All that was left was to follow through.

The parlor was silent, as it had been since her mother passed away the year before. Unlike her daughter, Lady Nightingale had been an exemplary hostess. Ferro Manor, once full of life, had died with its mistress. There were no more balls that were the envy of the island and no more grand dinners with important statesmen. All that was left of the once-great house was one miserable girl and a man too entrenched in his business to care.

Setting the quill down gently, Joan buried her head in her hands. It seemed foolish to miss her mother in death when in life they had done nothing but try each other's patience. For sixteen years Lady Nightingale had done her best to raise her daughter in the proper manner, which was to say as a gentlewoman, and for sixteen years Joan resisted. Preferring the library to the drawing room, she detested the idleness and hypocrisy found all too often within her peers. The girls she was expected to interact with were brainless, the boys dull. With far too much time on their hands their parents engaged in petty rivalries or buried themselves in meaningless pursuits. An ambitious few entered politics, but even they only sought to further their own self-interests.

Joan couldn't do what was expected of her, and that fact had only become more obvious after suddenly finding herself the lady of the house. With a shaking hand, Joan picked up her quill for the sixth time. Pursing her lips together, she wrote the two sentences that were throwing her soul into such turmoil. Her resolve hardened with each stroke, and by the end she was almost relieved to have finally gotten it over with. Sealing the note, she went into the hall and found one of the servants.

"Will you please take this to my father," Joan said quietly.

"Yes, miss. I'll bring it to him presently." The servant tucked the note in her apron pocket.

"Make sure he reads it," Joan called as the woman continued down the hallway. "It's…it's important," she said, her voice trailing off to nothingness.

The servant gave no indication she heard as she turned the corner, and once again silence reigned in the dead, soulless house.

~x~

The marriage between Edward and Lisbeth Nightingale was one of convenience. Uninterested in making or keeping friends, Edward required a charming wife talented enough to entertain his business partners and peers in society. The youngest daughter of a wealthy baron, Lisbeth sought a husband that could sustain her high standard of living. For many years their marriage was childless, and no one was quite sure if the couple was barren or if they couldn't be bothered to fulfill the prerequisite requirements for a baby.

Excitement tore through Ferro Manor when it was discovered that Lady Nightingale was pregnant. There was to be an heir at last! The Nightingale name would continue for another generation, and the household waited with baited breath as the day came closer for them to finally meet the newest addition to an old and distinguished family.

Somewhere along the line it was forgotten that Lady Nightingale had just as much chance of giving birth to a daughter as she did a son. It was whispered amongst the servants that when he was told the gender of his child, Edward Nightingale left the birthing chamber and did not return. Island law forbid women from inheriting property, and he had no use for a girl.

Joan was an only child, and she lived her life knowing that from the moment she was born she had been nothing more than a disappointment to both her parents.

~x~

Father's business took up a great deal of his time, and it wasn't unusual for Joan to go days or even weeks at a time without seeing him. Tonight was no different, and she ate alone in the dining hall. Usually she took her meals in the library, where she could eat while she read, but after informing her sire of her plans, Joan had half-expected him to make an appearance.

But he had not, and now she felt foolish as well as lonely.

She ate with stiff, mechanical movements, the food tasting like ash on her tongue. The only decent thing Edward Nightingale had ever done for his daughter was ensure she received a world-class education, and some days even that felt more like a curse than a blessing. Joan studied history, philosophy, and the sciences, and was capable of holding her own in conversation amongst intellectuals. It was easy for her to see through the superficial charms of her suitors, knowing they were interested only in her dowry and family connections. She could no longer stand attending balls, for as much as she loved to dance, if she had to spend another night fending off shallow men while being forced to socialize with silly women she might just kill herself.

Joan stabbed a bit of steamed broccoli with more force than necessary. It wasn't her fault that the family fortune would go to some cousin or other who didn't even live on the island. It wasn't her fault that convention said her future was dependent on whether or not she could snag a wealthy husband. It wasn't her fault that none of the single men her age were worth marrying!

When she took the time to think through things rationally, Joan knew she was not being fair. There were people in the world who managed to be both rich and sensible, and while they were an endangered species, a few did exist on the island. The problem of Joan's discontent ran deeper than her peers, and she knew she would never be free of it as long as she lived in Ferro Manor.

"Miss, I've got something here for you."

Joan looked up from her meal and thanked the servant before taking the piece of parchment she held in one hand. She recognized her note and her father's cramped handwriting immediately. Quickly she scanned its contents, and once she reached the end she was blinking back tears.

Dearest Father,

I have made up my mind to enter the Marine Academy. The arrangements have all been made, and I leave the day after next.

Sincerely,

Your Daughter

His response was only two words, and though she was expecting it, they cut Joan to the heart.

Very well.

Mother would have had a fit. Many her contemporaries would have been disowned. But her father did not care, just like he had not cared for seventeen years.

With careful, precise movements, Joan folded the parchment into fourths and threw it in the fireplace. Then she left the table, ignoring the rest of her meal and retired to her bedroom. She had less than two days until her departure, and she needed to pack.