Author's Note: This is hardly my first foray into the world of fanfiction, but please bear with me as it has been some years. This character, and her own unique storyline that meshes with the original, keep coming back over and over again. I tried working on this several times, and feel that I need to finish it, or it will continue to cause me to lose sleep.

I've been an avid reader for years, and am well aware of the views many readers have about OCs. Forgive me if I don't care; if you have any objections to a female OC being a main character and plot point, please do not continue. I feel that there is a serious lack of strong female characters in the One Piece universe, especially those that can compete with the boys. I do hope that the story itself is strong enough to keep those in doubt interested, however. This will begin sometime before Luffy and Zoro meet Nami, so quite early, however this will absolutely not be a rewrite of the series with a new character thrown in to sit on the sidelines and observe. Just like ripples in a pond, if you change one little thing, it goes on to throw the rest of the universe out of balance, and that is exactly what is likely to happen here.

This plot bunny made itself first known years ago, but college and two jobs stopped me from having time or motivation to work on it. Unfortunately, updates may be sporadic, as I am still working two jobs. Hopefully one day I will finish this monstrous undertaking.

Now, if you've made it through all of that nonsense, please, read on!

Disclaimer: Shouldn't it be obvious that, posting on fanfiction dot net, I do not own any of this unique universe? That privilege belongs to Eiichiro Oda.

Seven Years Ago

It truly was not that long ago, but to me it seems like a lifetime. They came on the tide, just as the morning fog gave way to a golden dawn over the sea. At first, we welcomed them, as we did all ships that docked in our isolated port. These were few and far between, and we eagerly awaited news of the world outside.

The sailors wore nondescript uniforms; they were like none we had ever seen. We imagined they were privateers, perhaps for a new shipping company that was exploiting our out-of-the-way trade route. For our little community, that would have been good news. Just imagine all of the interesting things the new ships would bring, they said. There was no reason to fear. Our forefathers, who had sought a hidden homeland for decades, were simply frightened of change.

The sailors dispersed among the villagers, interacting with them, asking questions and delivering news. Much later, I realized they were studying us. For days they remained, stocking and repairing their ship. Then one day, they announced that they would be leaving early the following morning, and would not forget the kindness shown to them.

I awoke before dawn, in that time between night and day when the world is swathed in dove gray shades, to watch the sailors depart. My adoptive brother heard me tiptoe out of our room and followed. We lived outside of town and had quite a long way to go to reach our goal. We raced, barefoot, along the outskirts of the village, desperately trying to keep our laughter unnoticed, down the hillside to the docks. Just before we drew in sight of the water, the world turned on its head.

A massive boom followed by the unmistakable sounds of destruction resounded in the morning air. Another followed, then another, and the screams of confused, just-woken village folk came swiftly after. The smell of smoke began to dominate all others on the breeze, and my brother and I froze, terrified. What could possibly be happening? Had pirates descended upon our tiny island to rape and pillage and burn? Had enemies of the unknown privateers followed them here?

My brother and I exchanged glances before turning and fleeing to our parents' home in the hills. Our flight passed in a blur of green and panting breath and fear. When we arrived, all the air fled our lungs and we could only stand rooted to the spot, some yards away from our home.

My vision blurred with tears and smoke and ash, and I choked on the rank odor of burning flesh. I knew our parents and our sickly little brother were inside. Figures surrounded our home, wearing nondescript uniforms that we had come to know very well in the last few days.

That was my first dose of betrayal, my first lesson of the world outside our tiny island community.

As we stood, like stone, gaping in grief at what had become of our lives, a thousand thoughts flew through my head. Where would we go? How would we survive? We were only eleven. How could someone, anyone, a member of the human race, do this to others? And above all, why?

Then hands were seizing my brother and I and we were hauled bodily toward the port. My brother was wailing, clawing, and kicking, his screams reverberating in the otherwise quiet forest. It was too quiet now. The sounds of chaos from the village had died. As we neared, echoes of his cries rose from several areas, all children, screaming for their lost parents, siblings, neighbors. Smoke drifted through the air, thick and cloying, and everywhere lingered the smell of death. We were stuffed onto the ship, moored between two destroyed and sinking fishing boats. It seemed only moments before the lines were cast off, the anchor weighed, and oarsmen at work turning the ship from the bay. The sails were unfurled, and an east wind, a wind that rarely blew over our island and always meant ill, filled the canvas, snapping the lines tight. And we were gone.

Sitting in the hold with seven others besides my brother and I, I let the tears fall and clutched to my last friends and family. They were my lifeline. In the dark and dank, with the waves lapping around us, I could not fathom the purpose these men had for us. Even then, I understood that it could be nothing good for any of us. It was then I decided that I could not follow the Way of Water, the ways of my people, the ways of peace. In my young heart, I could think of nothing but revenge, and our old ways did not allow for violence of any kind except in the most dire of circumstances.

At the age of eleven, I had already stared into the abyss. The darkness stared back, and it swallowed me whole.