1. Death
It was said, by the Ancient Ones, the first High Priestesses, worshippers of the Goddess Lua, that a Witch's Tale is not all as it seems. Of course, you can say the same about many things in a different way—what comes to mind are books and their covers—but we won't get into that.
Why Witch's Tale, you ask? Why not a handmaiden's tale or fairy tale?
Well, there are elements of magic, of mythology and folklore, but not in a feel-good kind o way. Layers upon layers of unpleasant surprises weaved with spontaneity and unpredictable turns. Irony likes to play a strong hand with the fates of Witches. It never ends in happy endings, for these tales range beyond black and white—and the concept of happiness is a well-debated philosophical question among witches, though with no apparent conclusion. Witch's Tales speak of struggle, revolution and death, to crudely resume. Death has a big role in these tales. Though what is death, if not the start of a beginning?
Therefore, this tale starts with an endless horizon of blue, destined to mock our protagonist, as she drifts aimlessly in her dinghy boat. While this is not the true beginning of her story, we'll get to that eventually, we start here for the renewal of a cycle. She grasps on to her life, even by the fringes, with the will she, somehow, still has.
The situation which led her here is one of resentment, regret, resolve, resistance—though maybe not in that particular order. It was a live or die circumstance that has landed our protagonist in the middle of nowhere. However, let's not be hasty, you shouldn't feel sorry for her. This is no hero, she is not innocent, untouched. You will find out eventually that this one is stubborn and arrogant and reckless—enough to get caught.
Enough to be exiled.
But she will prevail, eventually. She is nothing, if not determined.
You see, she has been wronged most grossly. Betrayed in a way that would have you gasping in shock. She has been obedient—risen through the ranks like one ought to—through sweat, blood and tears. She has been called prodigal, favored by Lua. Respected. At one point, she thought she even lost her mind. From dust, our protagonist traced a new self. She learned the rules. Too bad it took a while to understand she hadn't been playing the same game.
So, she resolves to fight for what was rightfully hers. The skeletons in the closet can't be unseen. And she is far from alone; the injustice she's suffered are merely the tip of the iceberg in a magical land filled with wicked secrets. Our protagonist's opponent swiftly overcomes her and the few allies she manages to rally. They never really stood a chance.
Smuggled out of the island hastily and efficiently, she is long gone from her tormentor's reach.
She awakens alone.
Her last memory of home are eyes.
Sparkling in sadistic delight.
Her eyes.
Our protagonist is an expert at losing. She's been at the bottom of the well before and has worked her way up time and again. She's hardworking, after all—to get where she did, one must be. So, while her body weakens from dehydration and her resolve waivers, the anger remains—it will fuel her; she is determined.
The few supplies she had are gone almost immediately to the storm that withers the fragile wooden boat with powerful waves, springing her into an endless, soulless blue. She no longer knows weeks from hours, west from east, up from down—how long she's been adrift? Lying on her back, staring at the cloudless sky, she realizes this might be her end.
What a boring way to go, she thinks.
And right, she is. Our protagonist's death will not be something creative, like being boiled alive in front of an audience, or impaled by a make-shift knife made of human remains. Her death will be a classic—a statistic even! —on a planet made of 99% salt water.
It won't matter.
Despite her unavoidable death, she curses her Goddess, at the time unspent, curses her own mortality. She laments her unfulfilled dream of adventure, the kind that becomes tale—one with epic catalysts, underdogs beating the system, comedy and rebirth. Freedom. She spent countless hours reading in the dark of night, illuminated by a single candle—devouring the narratives of knights, pirates and gypsies—she couldn't get out. Until now, that is. Though, things weren't exactly going according to plan—nothing was planned.
She closes her eyes for the last time.
This is how the world ends.
Not with a bang—
—but with a whimper.
And then, there's a rumble.
Shhhhhaaahhh!
Something massive emerges from the deep.
A cascading waterfall reveals a house-sized crimson serpent with branch-like horns protruding from its head, glancing at her with vicious red eyes, intent on making her its next meal. Its scales looked like well-maintained ruby earrings, gleaming brightly under the unforgiving sun.
As it opens its mouth to gobble her up in a single bite, she distantly hears screaming in the distance—though feels like she may be imagining it—her concern is with the very sharp, very real teeth praying down on her.
Her vengeful Goddess must be beaming with glee.
And then, a ship falls from the sky.
Conveniently, lands on the monster's head.
Knocked out in a single blow, its eyes roll into the back of its head and foam sprays out of its mouth. Both large bodies land in a potent splash, creating a wave so big that it overturns her small boat and throws her overboard.
Her arms flail while trying to stay afloat, but the ocean seems resolute in finishing the job the sea monster couldn't with its furious waves. Her arms shake with effort, their sluggishness reminding her of her lack of sustenance.
A body lands on the floating wooden surface and stands before her thrashing form. The hat-wearing figure is shrouded in shadow as they block the sun from view, making it hard to decipher their appearance. The figure crouches down, a hand plucks her out of the water. She blinks her stinging salt-filled eyes, trying to adjust to the lighting—coughs escaping her mouth as she wheezes for air.
"Whew! That was a close one!" a young dark-haired man exclaims cheerfully, with a smile too big, too happy for a regular face, inappropriate, even, for the given the situation. He tips his straw hat up, revealing a clearer view of his facial features.
Perhaps it is the thirst or the sudden tumble into the ocean water or, even, the knowledge that she's been saved somewhat miraculously, but our protagonist's world plunges into darkness, as she meets the bittersweet taste of unconsciousness—plagued by her childhood dreams.
Even for the sturdiest of seafarers, it is an unusual sight.
Seven distinctive pairs of eyes stare at the sleeping body lying on the grassy deck of their shiny new ship, the Thousand Sunny. Wrapped in a mint-colored blanket, is our protagonist sleeping soundly, if the snot bubble is anything to go by. The emotion on each face varies in degrees of curiosity of circumstance to worry for wellbeing, none quite sure what to make of her.
"What's the verdict, Chopper?" asks Nami, the crew's tangerine-haired navigator, eyeing the Eternal Pose formerly hidden in their rescue's pocket. Well-known for her kleptomaniac tendencies, uncanny predictions of the weather and her cut-throat loan policies, Nami eyes the name of the island and grins.
'Magas Island'… Sounds expensive, she thinks giddily, twirling the object in her hand. Some would even call her a gold-obsessed shrew, but certainly not to her face, unless they would prefer a painful death.
"She's… not great—we need to get her inside so I can treat her," answers Chopper, the ship's doctor and a hat-wearing reindeer to boot. His worried tone betrays his true perception of his patient's condition. Beyond the skinny limbs and protruding bones, he spies second degree burns from overexposure, sever dehydration and several lacerations left untreated. He immediately leaves the ship's deck to prepare the medical supplies for her treatment, while she's moved inside by the ship's first mate.
Their escape had been more than successful. It wasn't every day that pirates managed to escape a Hero amongst marines unscathed—it was something to brag about, surely! They had been flying like most birds for a while.
Then they were falling.
While it was to be expected—when something goes up, it must go down—the exhilaration or fear of death had the whole crew yelling at the top of their lungs. Usopp, the ship's sniper and jack of all trades, spotted a Sea King in between his hysterical crying. Though, there wasn't much to be done, there was no control over fall, thus their landing was harsh—he was certain there'd be a serpent-shaped head indent awaiting Franky, the cyborg shipwright, to repair.
In the chaos of it all, their inconsequential captain heard a weak plea for help in the tumultuous waters. Before anyone could get their bearings, he catapulted himself off the ship, aiming for a small, overturned boat and rescued the source of the sound.
He returned with a child in his arms.
"Oh my," mutters Robin, former bounty hunter of the underworld organization, Baroque Works, and Devil Child wanted by the World Government, "I wonder how she ended up here and in such a state…" she trails off, as the remaining crew remained on deck with the doctor's leave.
"Skin and bones" mutters Sanji while exhaling cigarette through his nostrils. This particular pirate chef, formerly employed by the infamous floating restaurant, The Bartie, knows a thing or two about starving at sea—the emptiness of a stomach that begins to digest itself. He shudders lightly and moves towards where the kitchen is located, putting out his bad habit, "I'm sure the little miss will appreciate an early dinner,"
"Didn't even leave a scratch!" declares Franky, walking into the ongoing conversation, "What'd I tell ya', Adam's wood is tough shit!"
Flabbergasted, Usopp stutters eyes wide and unbelieving, "not even a scratch?!"
The Shipwright beams, shaking his head.
"What were we talking about?" the cyborg digresses, more interested in the subject of the previous conversation.
"There's something off about her… did you see the face tattoos!" Nami mutters suspiciously, something she was prone to, given her upbringing.
"In ancient civilizations, tattoos were earned throughout one's life as marking the passage of cycles or moments of great value. In some cases, markings may symbolize classes, assigned duties or even personality traits. Though given our young guest, she must be someone important."
"We should ransom her!" fantasized the navigator, on the mountains of gold she'd sleep on.
"Hold on a second! Why do you always jump to profit?!" the long-nosed sniper complains indignantly, "You guys saw the state she was in, maybe we shouldn't take her home! She obviously didn't have a great time."
"Maybe she's one of the Stolen Ones," muses Robin absentmindedly, though her input silences the group.
"The Stolen Ones" Usopp stutters in fright, his legs shaking at the ominous title.
"Yeah, I remember that story—it's in the news every few years—something about a serial kidnapper snatching babies from their cribs in the middle of the night, never to be found again," Franky recalls, thinking on a particular family targeted in Water 7. The city had been a-buzz about the tragedy—the parents died shortly after.
"Throughout history there has been a long list of missing babies across all the seas —with no single connection between them, that we know of. Ancient myth states that a furious god was stolen from, so they created beings of unimaginable power, maga or witches, to hunt down their bounty. Unable to find it, the witched feared eternal damnation, and thus began regular sacrifices to appease their god, with the blood of the innocent," complemented the archaeologist of the group.
"Witches?!" Usopp paled in terror. Feeling feint, he manages to string a somewhat coherent sentence, "I seem to be coming down with the can't-go-on-witch-islands disease."
"Shut it, moron" drawls a voice from behind him, the first mate and directionally challenged swordsman, Zoro, walked up to the group, "we don't know if witches are involved, right captain?"
The gathered crew then realizes their captain had been silent for a while—suspiciously so.
They find him grinning, paying half attention to the conversation, the other half to his own reckless thoughts. Though one thing is certain, at this point in their journey, they know that smile.
His eyes shine, "She's a mystery kid!"
Right off the bat, Nami cuts in sharp, "No, Luffy! I draw the line at recruiting children!"
Their captain pouts but doesn't insist.
The group disbands the informal meeting, and are left to their own devices, awaiting their doctor's update on their unexpected guest's health. The sniper and captain join forces and approach ship's rails, determined to fill their new aquarium with a great verity of fish. The swordsman climbs the mast, intent on making the observation room his favored napping location, while the shipwright goes down to his workshop to brainstorm new improvements. In the ship's aquarium, archaeologist and navigator gossip over the day's events over a glass of North Blue wine.
It nears dusk, when the doctor emerges from the infirmary, visibly less tense than before. The crew is rounded up in the open-spaced kitchen, tucked into the dining table, sitting in no-specific order—though the ones furthest from their captain are the smart ones—while Sanji stir-fries a massive portion of shrimp yakisoba with an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
Chopper addresses the subject on most of their minds, "She's stable. I had to introduce IV fluids to get her re-hydrated and give her antibiotics for the infections. She also needed a few stitches, but she'll sleep through the night."
While the information seems to appease the crew, the unanswered question lingers in their mind. Who is she, our protagonist? Before anyone gathered can voice their minds, they hear a loud…
CLASH!
And a few softer thumps of objects meeting their fate with gravity.
The abrupt noise silences the room with surprise and anticipation. Zoro directs his sight to their doctor and speaks, "I though you said she'd sleep through the night…"
"She was supposed to!" yells Chopper in fright. This patient's recovery is rivaling that of their captain's. The reindeer immediately hurries out the room, with the rest of the crew hot on his heels.
They open the door's infirmary, and find our protagonist awake and, on her feet, favoring her right side. She slides to a defensive position promptly as she hears the door open—fists risen at ready and, legs bent and steady. Later, she will lie and say she isn't bemused by the odd appearance the ship's crew, when recounting the event. There seemed to be some kind of skimpy dressed robot, a guy with weirdly shaped eyebrows, a weirdly shaped nose guy, next to him a grumpy one with green hair, a pair of beautiful women, a cute furry animal and the most unnerving of them all, her savior. While the pet is staring at her in worry, the rest seem amused, taken back by her hostile body language.
"Who the fuck are you?" our protagonist blurs out, not sure what to make of these weirdos.
The next thing she know, there's a shouting group of people, each one louder than the next—goodbye silent endlessness blue.
"Get back into bed, miss!"
"Ow! The kid's got spirit!"
"—watch your mouth, brat!"
"Aw! She wants to fight us!"
Our protagonist, with ever the temper, snapes back "Who the fuck do you think you're talking down to, punk?!"
The captain didn't make a peep as he grins widely, though our protagonist is unnerved. She remains firm in her defense—she's learned to not let her guard down, especially with the smiley one close by.
"I'm Monkey D. Luffy, and I'm gonna be King of Pirates!" he exclaims answering her first question, "and we're the Straw Hat pirates."
"Pirates, huh?" She raises her fists, making her body small, "Then this shouldn't take long."
I need to get back, she thinks.
Our protagonist smirks, there's fire in her eyes.
"I'm commandeering this ship."
.
.
.
Remember?
Arrogant, stubborn and reckless.
To be Continued