My good girl (One Piece Fanfic)

For the first time

A/N: I do not own One Piece.

A/N: English is not my first language.

***

Don't open window.

Don't open the door.

If you hear voices in the hallways, don't make a sound.

Do you understand, Yue? Sure you understand; you are a good girl, right?

Even if the wording was different, it had been said over a thousand times since she could remember. With the same voice, with the same impassive tone, with the same amused grin; over and over and over again.

It had been long ago, too long to even remember exactly when, or to know when she started to pay attention to it, therefore, it was long enough to know the rules by heart. They were not many, but if you only had a room and a bathroom to walk in throughout the day, they tended to weight down a great deal more- Enough to make her hate them with frustrated intensity. But just as that hatred, she kept the questioning to herself. Yue assumed that at some point of her life she had had to try and break them, maybe when she still didn't know how to write, or the times the maids recalled as her 'worse phase yet' when she actually opened the door and walked on the hallway very often; 'You never got very far' they always added with a hush, and the girl didn't doubt it. Maybe those years far beyond the reach of her memory were the cause behind why Doffy insisted on reminding her of the rules so much, as if he thought she could actually forget about them anytime soon.

The first time she saw someone besides Vergo, the maids, Doflamingo or the four man dressed in clothes with the same pattern as the drawings on the deck of cards, she was ten, and it wasn't until years later that she realized the rules had the purpose of avoiding just that, for reasons her mind couldn't understand the first time they met. However, she had paid enough attention to the moment to remember every detail of what had happened inside that room, realizing how easy it was to break the limitations without even thinking about doing it.

Inside her room, there was a couch and a comfy chair, but the spot that had some years before belonged to dolls and wooden blocks now offered a more comfortable spot, not really mattering if it was on the floor and with a bookshelf to rest her back against- It still was better than the coach that allowed a clear view of the dark room. An ongoing game of cards rested in front of her, the constant tapping of the card in her hand against the box besides her feet the only sound that could be heard besides rushing of the window outside the window. If she raised her head just a little bit the light of the moon could be seen, trying to engulf the shadow of the shelf she was using as a back rest, and the light stretched enough to reach the metal door and everything in between. A box, a pile of books that would be picked up and placed on the shelf in the morning by the maids, and a closed door that wouldn't open until more than a couple of hours.

Tonight, it was not the door she wanted to open.

But even if she wanted to open the window, she wouldn't do it. Even if she was now able of lifting herself and reach it, there was no way she would actually do it. It had never actually been open, it probably was rusty and would crack, if move in the slightest. Birds always came to land on the space between the top of the wall and the ceiling, that long but narrow thing that usually did let sunlight and wind in, but it all pointed to the fact that she was in the top floor of a probably tall window, so what would she see if she peeked through the glass? Lights, land? Sea?

Sometimes the moon was high enough for her to see it if she sat against the door. That probably would be the sight to enjoy if she did shift from her place, for a few hours until it reached its peak. Surely, it would have been a really nice thing to see, the most interesting part of her day besides the strange looking dessert at lunch that had somehow tasted good, but seeing her unwillingness to move from her place that wasn't going to be the case that night. The tapping stopped when her eyes shifted to the cards once more, a deep breathe inflating her chest before it went back to its original state, the air coming out as almost imperceptible white steam. Winter had arrived earlier than expected, so soon it would be that time of the year in which the maids would let the candles on before they left for the night and a hot water bottle under her sheets, when coats would suddenly be delivered one morning and a somehow fancy dinner would be held one night deep into the month.