For as long as anyone in their small village could remember, little Tomiju, who lived on the hill, had always had a head full of stories. Some were long, others not so much. They told of kings and queens, monsters, and aliens. Some would reach into the soul and tear you apart; others lifted you to the sky, gave you hope and taught wisdom to the unwise. Some stories whispered secrets, plots and mysteries that twisted heads into knots until your mind was spinning.

She wrote everyone down, covered paper after paper in writing loopy and screwed, so cramped on their paper form - no one else could ever make head or tails of it. Some stories were interrupted mid tale by others that made themselves known only to Tomiju. Other stories were started in the middle of their plot told through until the beginning.

Pages and pages covered her small room until nothing but her writing could be seen, and yet she still wrote them down- to the infinite worry of her father. Her head was so muddled with stories that she was ashamed to admit that it took her a long time to realise she wasn't meant to be there.

It was a news coo that brought her the epiphany. The small seagull -a creature Tomiju associated with chicken chips, greasy hands and swooping thievery- approached her, held out one tiny talon with a paper in it and squawked. She would realise later that no seagull ever brought about good news or intentions, and this one would prove to be no exception to what she would later establish as a rule. One that would provide her with many a misery.

"Dad!" she yelled, hoping her voice carried through the open window, "a bird is staring at me!"

She could hear her fathers heaving footstep thump toward her. The hinges whined as they opened. She found herself staring at her father's heavy boots and pondered whether lying in front of the door was a bright idea.

"Honey, it's just the news coo," he sighed at his daughter as he expertly wound himself around the pages sprawled in front of the door. "I signed up to get the paper delivered to our house instead of picking it up from Mr Sato down the street."

Mr Sato was a crinkled old man who lived in town; he always smelt like cabbage but gave her a warm smile and gifted her with ink when she ran out.

"what's a news coo?" she asked, curious.

"It's how the paper is delivered, so all the ships out at sea are reached." Her father explained, "Everyone gets a paper; that how we know what going on in our world."

"Can I read the paper?" Tomiju had seen her father reading the paper before, but she always thought it was full of his own stories - and those of Mr Sato. Her father smiled at her, moustache rising into a happy-looking curve,

"Sure thing Honey, Just let papa have a crack at it first, okay?"

He tucked the paper under his arm and walked back inside, not noticing the brown paper that broke free and fell into Tomijus own pile of paper. She hastily grabbed it and tucked it away underneath her own writing. Before her father could see and she would have to wait for him to finish with the paper. Only after she heard the tell-tale squeak of the kitchen chair, accompanied by her father's considerable weight settling down in a thump, did the dare to pull the paper out. There was a picture of a very familiar girl not much older than her, and in large letters, it read, "Nico Robin, Wanted Dead or Alive".

But Tomiju knew exactly who this girl was, even before she read the name, she knew her story already, it was in her head, amongst many of the others, But Tomiju had known, without a doubt for many years, that her stories were made up, remnants of a life she lived before.

Yet here in very read paper, she held proof of a possibility she had never dared to consider. She was meant to be one of those stories you heard about on Facebook, children who remembered their past life for a few years before it faded in their memories. Tomiju had thought she was simply in a different country, more isolated from the hustle and bustle of the city she grew up in, with beaches and a dad in a small village.

Tomiju was 5 years old when she realised that she had been reincarnated into a world full of gains sea kings who could swallow boats and corrupt officials who would bend to the whims of nobles.

As she sat in her own personal slice of tropical heave, Tomiju felt cold to the bone as her head full of stories gave way to the icy realisation that her simple life was never going to be what she yearned for. She was destined to be pulled around by the whims of a world she knew both everything and absolutely nothing about. As she lay there with her dreams of a simple relaxing beach life torn to piece around her as the certainty of future knowledge, she had been holding tight through her stories was useless in a different universe, where the fate and lives of anyone unconnected to the straw hats were turbulent and unknown. Tomiju wanted nothing more than a predictable long life that she had been robbed of when her previous life had been cut short so early. Tomijus plan to make money through investments she already knew would succeed, retire and live a long slothful life were no longer viable. Her nice cookie-cutter planned future was gone because someone out there didn't have the decency to place her back into the same universe she had died in.

Tomiju was 5 years old when she was faced with the knowledge that her only method of living the long wealth filled life she craved was to insert herself into the One piece story and abuse the hell out of her future knowledge.