lil winner » trafalgar law.

prologue // everything at the dock

❝ to live; to survive; whats the difference? ❞

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mastlr d. [name]. you were 7 back then, still young, bright-eyed, and bouncy with energy like a beach ball. you were happy and ready to try anything new. before everything, you loved to paint. you loved to draw, to paint, to make little dolls out of straw and hay. you, were an artist, as you were always endearingly called. a little artist.  

then that happened.

and now, you'd curse that d middle name for as long as you lived. you didn't care if it brought you together with your brother, your mother, your father. if they were across the world, you didn't care. it didn't matter.

god's archenemy. you were a child, yet deemed enough danger to be brought under the "care" and "guidance" of a celestial dragon. what could you have done anyways? 

care and guidance your ass; it was nothing but an excuse to steal and keep a tight leash around you. 

now, the light in your eyes has dimmed. a storm brews inside of you, thrashing and lurching and begging to be set free. to wreck havoc amongst all the monsters around you, finally get what you wanted. so you set it free, before it could shatter the glass jar you had contained it in and threw up everything around you in a frenzy. you whirled it around and around and lo behold; the harvoc it wrecked would be considered a fire maelstrom by those who cared to see. 

you were 7 back then, with pools of crimson, viscous liquid oozing across the floor. it crawled into the cracks, inching across the tiles. the walls had dents and fissures in them, the same liquid painted across every inch. it crawled and slid across your shadow as well, staining it eternally in your memory.

perhaps they were right. you truly were a bearer of the "d," signing away yourself towards immense power in an undersized body. you had nothing to lose; and those who were cornered and had nothing were far more dangerous than those who did. 

a cornered wolf would not submit, would not succumb. it would fight until its last breath. 

dont you believe it?

but- you were an artist, and this was your creation. your very first major art piece, one that'd go down in history if others allowed it. 

across from the whole room, beyond the masses of insignificant figures, lay a man clad in the most extravagant clothing to exist. yet he was dead; the life essence seeped from his body and into the cracks in the floor, the cornered webs in the dust, and the grime on the ground. he was one with the dirt he had looked down on for so long; literally and metaphorically. 

runes and unknown symbols whirled along your skin, glowed in your shadow, and then ceased to exist. they vanished and faded as you stalked your way down the supposedly royal hall and toward the doors.

wealth, fame, prosperity, followers. it all meant nothing to a dead man.
dead men can't talk.
and dead men certainly, cannot tell tales. no one would ever know, and it would simply be deemed an assassination by unknown means.

this man, however, played a more significant role than you had ever imagined.
as a celestial dragon, they called him. the killing was widespread; the source and the killer never noticed nor never found. after all, you were always no more than a piece of dust below their feet, to be blown away and never recorded within data. you were nothing, dissolved and merged into their palace, yet not owning a place amongst it.

why a celestial? what was so celestial about that? young you had never understood, and perhaps never, ever, will. 

even though you were young, you understood you had to leave right away. you weren't noticed; yet your feet tapping across the empty manor, the halls quiet and dim, you made your way through a new set of clothes and to the city's dock. 

here, your story would finally begin.

as the wind tousled your hair, you felt serenity fall over you. it was as if an angel was hovering over you, devouring your being and allowing you to be one with peace. you closed your eyes, upon hearing the nearest ship empty of all people.  

then you opened them again. 

your eyes had a flame in them; red, and orange, and burning hot, just like the insignia etched into the side of your abdomen. like the burning runes that had appeared for the first time, fierce and hot. 

like the fire that had swallowed your hometown whole, after your parents refused to give  you up. like the rays of light that shone down from the heavens to reflect the carnage you'd left behind. 

then you climbed onto the ship, now a stowaway, and waited for it to start moving.

your story begins now, as the ship leaves the dock, you breathed in, feeling your little body heave up and down. what had you done?

 you'd have a new beginning, you'd be free, but what was the price to pay? your family thought you were dead, your parents probably moved somewhere you'd never find, and you had no friends nor relatives. 

tomorrow. you'd think more about it all tomorrow. push it all onto the one word of hope that promised another day and survival; tomorrow. 
for now, you just wanted to rest.

you were 7 when you first left the city in red and everything you had ever known at the dock you'd left the carnage and slaughter, the dead celestial dragon and an unknown motive and killer; however it was accomplished. 

but nothing was felt but serenity and hope, and even a glimmer of excitement. 

you'd cast everything aside at that dock, and no one would ever know. 

no one would ever realize that one of the celestial dragon's slaves, possessions, experiments, or hostages had gone missing. no one was ever important to be kept tabs on. no one would ever know. 

but that had worked in your favor, hadn't it?

scoffing, you closed your eyes as you came to the realization that you were exhausted to the bone. your eyelids slid down, and you fell asleep in a corner of the storage room of the ship, letting dreamland wipe all your thoughts away, into a clean palette and clean canvas, ready to be drawn on.

you are now [name] [last name], and that was 15 years ago. you were now 22. 
and your story begins now.

this was YOUR life; and your life and death were in your hands.