warnings. / none, for now.
OO.
PICK YOUR POISON
prologue.
It's seven in the afternoon when things suddenly, horrifyingly, click into place.
And the girl- she remembers. Not of this life, but of another.
Trafalgar D. Water Lami is all of three years old, and this young decaying vessel is bound to die within the next six years.
.
.
It's not as though she hadn't realized things were off prior to this moment; it's just that she hadn't known how perilous the situation was until then.
The girl had always known that she was a little off. She never felt quite right in this body; as if she were wearing a suit too small, as if her limbs didn't move like she was used to. She had recollections of things that Lami had never experienced before. Of flying metal automobiles and city lights that spanned across miles. Recalled languages and information that Lami, in all of her youth, had no chance of understanding let alone knowing. There were people in her dreams whom she knew she loved, but could never remember- as if their memory was but a figment in the fog that coated her mind. She's far more intelligent than her peers, but far too mature to be quite right.
She supposes that she is lucky. Her parents, rather than abhor or remain suspicious over her oddities, find delight in her intelligence. Two for two, her father would say with pride. Two genius', under one roof. How delightful.
If only they knew the extent of what their daughter is, then maybe they would not feel so blessed by her presence.
.
.
But it's not until then, at seven o'clock that afternoon, that it really clicks that she is not from here. She is not from a world where pirates rein havok over the oceans, or where fruit grant magical abilities. Her world is not divided into four seas and a belt, her world is not governed by a single entity. Technology in this world is not lacking; but it is different. She is not from here but she knows where this is, knows who she is.
She is not Lami, and she is not from a world depicted in a comic book.
.
.
The next day she wakes to the realization that she is still h e r e.
( She wonders when i̶f̶ this nightmare will end. )
.
.
Lami loves her brother, Law, but ever since her memories clicked back into place she cannot stand to treat him with loving devotion like she used to. When she didn't remember; when she didn't know.
It makes her feel guilty. He is a good, honest kid. Law doesn't deserve this treatment, he doesn't deserve her. She has stolen his precious little sister from him and he doesn't even know it. She doesn't know what to do. She can't act like the ray of sunshine and love that he is worthy of- she isn't capable of it, not anymore. Not in her last life, not in this life. When she looks at him all she can see is the pain and suffering he will go through later on in life. How she will die, how her parents will perish, how the world around them will burn to the ground thanks to the greed and gluttony of those in higher power.
She wants to be a good sister. To give him a version of Lami that he deserves.
But.
Everytime she looks at him her chest and gut ache. Like she can't breath; like she's struggling below the waves of her own past. She could almost pretend like she wasn't in a world riddled with corruption, slaughter, and evil if it weren't for him. Law is a constant reminder that she is in a world far from her own. A reminder of the past and the people she left behind. A reminder that she is doomed to die within the next next few years.
She loves her brother dearly, too, but she can't stand to look at him without thinking about what she has lost and what she is going to lose.
.
.
Lami's parents worry about her change in personality.
It's understandable, she is much more introverted and morose than before. She can't help it. She is not Lami and she can't bother to pretend to be. Even still, the Lami she was before her memories clicked in was not the Lami that she remembers- not to say that it's a lot; her memory of a show she only watched as a pastime is not the greatest. But she remembers enough, knows enough to know that she is fucked.
Regardless they worry... until they stop.
She catches them whispering to one another one night, tittering in Lami's father's office; how adorable, she's imitating her older brother!
how precious!
She loves these parents, but she can't help but be glad that they are doctors and not psychologists. Maybe then they would understand the extent of the problem.
She revels in their ignorance.
.
.
In her spare time she writes in her journals.
Reincarnation, she thinks, would be a whole lot more interesting if she wasn't pre-destined to die.
( From fire, genocide, amber lead- take your pick. )
This world is much different than her last. It's as though all the rules of her past world simply do not apply to this one. Humans are much more durable, have a higher capacity for strength, speed, and pain. Their bodies themselves seem almost… built different, though extremely similar. The animals and creatures of this world are completely different than her… past one. They hold abilities and intelligence that those of her last world could hardly comprehend. Willpower is enough to break the flimsy rules that govern how this universe works; all of which completely baffle her.
As bizarre and seemingly impossible as this world is, she finds herself fascinated as she reads through books, or listens to her parents tell her stories of this world. Similar, but so different that she can't help but marvel.
( It would have been nice, to be reborn in a fascinating place like this; had she not been shackled with a futile fate. )
She was never a scientist or a doctor, or any of the sort. She was an intellectual who enjoyed reading and theory- but she never was big into physics or biology or anything of that matter. As such she can't wrap her brain around the changes that viciously whiplash her senses. The environment had been her domain of interest, food security and advocating for helping those in need. None of... this... had been her specialty, and she feels awfully out of place. Bitterness clings at her ribcage. She is a bad candidate to stop things, to save herself, if that is her purpose for being here.
It's laughable, if anything.
The issues at hand are far more than what she alone can deal with.
In theory the fire itself would be easy to avoid, however the war that was bound to irrupt? The centuries worth of accumulating poison exposure and inherited low life expectancy rate? The corrupt government and royal family that willingly subjected their people to death? Those aren't things that she could fix. She can't just... cure a disease that even the best doctors on the island won't achieve. She can't parade herself around a war wrecked land and expect not to get injured or caught. She can't just stand up to the nation and world government and say hey could you, you know, not destroying us?
The frustrating part is that there will be no point in the war bound to erupt; her generation was fated to be that last one, anyway. The world government would willingly allow the nation of Flevance to be slaughtered and discriminated against for nothing.
( She thinks it's awfully cruel to offer a second chance, only at the expense of being pushed into an impossible situation. )
Everything she thinks, everything she remembers- she writes it all down.
The language of this world is one she cannot recall from her old one. It's not English or Japanese, not Spanish or French. Completely original. She supposes that she should have expected this; they are completely different worlds, what are the chances of universal languages across all the universes? It might also be a blessing in disguise. It means she can write in her journals without the peeping eyes of her parents or her brother. Not that she thinks they would do such a thing as impede on her privacy- but she can't help but be vigilant in a world destined to burn.
She writes as much as she can remember about One Piece, about the characters - people, now - of goals and arcs. But Lami cannot remember much. It had been a pastime, something she enjoyed to do on the side. The adventures of Luffy and his friends had been nothing but something she would do when she had nothing else to fill her time. She tries though, and fills her books with as much useless information as she can, lest it… somehow, be useful in the future.
But that's not all she writes.
Lami writes stories, nursery rhymes, songs, anything from her past life- anything that can allow her to believe that yes, that life had been real. It isn't a figment of her imagination, it isn't just a dream she had. This language she knows, these stories and knowledge had to come from somewhere, right?
Her parents encourage this behaviour. Lami thinks that they enjoy the thought that both of their children are ridiculously smart, leagues above their peers. She takes advantage of their lenience as much as possible.
( She tries not to think about how she has stolen their daughter;
how she is a changeling in disguise;
how she has desecrated the idea of Lami. )
.
.
Lami starts to loathe the colour white.
Flevance is absolutely stunning; the story had that right, at least. It glitters and sparkles with the sort of beauty that is aesthetically pleasing to the eye, and radiates with wealth and marvel. Pretty ivory painted across the grass and sky, like a canvas waiting to be sketched on. Walking around the town itself feels as though she is walking through a fairytale - though, she supposes she is - with its mystical and gaudy white semblance. It's understandable why people would be attracted to this country, to the city she lives in. Gorgeous, splendid, breathtaking. It reeks with a sort of holiness that begs for devotion.
She supposes that the people of this world haven't learned that the most beautiful things, often times, are the most dangerous.
The longer she stays the more acidic her throat and stomach feel; the heavier the pressure on her chest and ribs. Every breath taken is ripped through her throat with force and effort. Every bite of food is shoved, pushed, persuaded past her teeth. The happiness of others, their carefree unknowing smiles cast sharp pains into her heart and gut, knowing, knowing, that this beauty they hold in reverence is bound to kill them. Everything here is white, white, white- and isn't ironic how the white in this country is symbolic to death?
Sometimes she laughs at this thought, sometimes she is wrecked motionless.
( she doesn't want to die. )
.
.
Lami's parents stare at her oddly, when one day she leaves her room wearing plastic gloves tucked into her sleeves and a medical mask on her face.
"Dear…" Her mother says with a tone of concern, and exchanges a look with her father, "What are you wearing?"
Honestly she hasn't thought much of how she should explain this. Saying, 'our nation is plagued with poison exposure, and the only way I can think to stop it is to cut it off' would not do. Best case scenario they wouldn't believe her. Worst case, they would.
She takes a moment before mumbling, "... germs."
Her mother simply stares for a moment while her father gives an amused laugh. He turns to his wife and motions in her direction with an obvious sense of pride, "This one is going to be a doctor."
They laugh, and Lami continues to thank the heavens for their obliviousness.
Law, on the other hand, looks contemplative.
.
.
( the next day she finds law wearing gloves and a mask as well, and she preens. she loves him. her chest bursts with fondness for her older little brother and she feels glad that maybe this might help, maybe it'll do something… but she also can't help the tiny tinge of resentment that lingers in her gut and says;
he doesn't need this, i do. he's not going to die. i am- )
.
.
It takes a few months, but she somehow manages to trudge her way out of her wallowing depression that has hung over her head like an oppressive wave of force. It remains, still, and she doubts that it'll ever pass, but it becomes manageable. Functional.
Flevance, in all it's brilliant glory, is a pit of festering disease. She knows that she will not get any better should she stay here for very long. She knows that she will die, should she sit by and abide by what story dictates. Remaining passive and allowing this to continue would sully whatever being gave her this new life. Usually those who stand still do not recognize the chains that cling to their feet; but she has the gift, the opportunity, to do something about the fate that has been tethered onto her. There are very few who are given this chance, even if her hurdles are seeming impossible to overcome.
No longer can she act docile, wait for saviour to come and extract her from this destiny.
It doesn't matter if she is Lami or.. Whoever she was, in her past life. Now she is neither of them. She is someone entirely different, something entirely different. Made of lead and death; tethered together by an unknown source. But it doesn't matter.
Whoever she is- she doesn't want to die.
And in a world that bends and breaks over the strength of one's will, maybe - just maybe - she can garner her own freedom, release herself from her chains that bind her wrists and ankles, and change her story.
.
.
( she has a plan. )
instead of writing for things i should write for... i did this.
i've had this idea in mind for a long time now. i've redone a prologue three times now, with different tones and writing styles and... i liked this the best. it's rather unorthodox for me, as i usually write long blocks of description and dialogue, but i wanted to try something new.