when one looks back to their childhood, one remembers the vivid springs of laughter, climbing trees and reaching out for the stars, and making flower crowns in fields of flowers. but when [name] looked back at her youth, it was void of those colorfu...
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chapter 57. its time we save her
[ for her real smile... ]
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the world had become colorless.
it was like the sea itself had been drained of its brilliance, as if the sun never existed, as if the every hue they had once laughed in, fought in, and lived in had been swallowed whole by the black truth left behind.
a crew without a pillar was no crew at all, for a crew without someone who bore the unbearable weight was nothing more than a collection of wanderers pretending to be strong, and a crew that had never even realized the agony their so-called pillar had carried in silence was nothing but blind, fragile fools.
the thought tasted bitter, sharper than saltwater, for it clawed at their throats and forced them to acknowledge a truth they were never prepared to face.
a crew without a pillar was no crew. a crew without ever realizing the pain of their pillar was no crew. a crew without someone behind their backs was no crew.
it took everything in them to even swallow that jagged truth, but it carved its way into their chests, ripping them open with every beat of their hearts.
[name] was gone.
[name] was gone.
[name] was gone.
...would it even be proper for them to call her [name] anymore? her name was never [name].
her smile was never theirs, and her scarf was nothing but a banner of falsehood, and every soft word and sharp lesson, every push and every promise, had been a lie woven so intricately into their days that they had never once thought to doubt it.
the straw hats sat side by side on the thousand sunny, a grim look on each of their faces. it was obvious that none of them were able to register the situation they were in.
zoro's swords lay untouched at his side, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles twitched, but his eyes were fixed on nothing, the unreadable silence he wore far more dangerous than rage.
sanji's cigarette burned down to the filter in his hand, ash scattering across the wood, yet he never lifted it again, too lost in the echo of a name he had once said with affection, now tasting like betrayal.
