Chapter Text
Tally’s always known that she isn’t exactly normal. On the outside she looks quite ordinary, but on the inside? As far back as she can remember, there’s been a sense of confusion — the feeling that something in her life just somehow isn’t right .
It’s silly, of course. She lives in a nice estate with her parents and they want for nothing. What more could she possibly be missing? Anything other than this would be improper for a girl of her standing, and any normal person would be happy with what Tally has. She has no reason to be dissatisfied with a single thing, and yet.
She’s dissatisfied.
Something about it doesn’t fit. This life, this future, it doesn’t feel like hers . Tally is sure that she’s overreacting like her parents always say she does, but she can’t seem to shake that feeling no matter what she does. Every time she quashes it’s down, it’s back again the next morning like a particularly stubborn dandelion. It’s getting to the point that she’s starting to wonder if maybe the feeling is right.
But no, that can’t be it. Tally knows how her life is set out to go. Just as her parents planned, she’ll grow up a high-society woman, marry above her own generous standing, bring honor and prestige to their name, and be of use to her family.
That’s what she’s meant for.
(That’s all she’s good for.)
That’s how it goes.
And for some reason, that feels wrong. In the back of her mind somewhere is the sensation that this is not the life she should be living.
The question is, if Tally is living the wrong life, then what is the right one?
oOoOo
She dreams that night, just as she thought she might.
Tally dreams of cities and oceans she’s never seen. Faces she’s never met. Clothing she’s never worn, fruits she’s never tasted, words she’s never heard.
Sometimes, Tally wonders if she should know them. Other times, she knows she should.
It isn’t every night that she dreams this way, but it’s often enough that she’s far too familiar with the dizzying feeling of the scenes and images flashing across her mind. Split-second visions of a red ribbon against woven straw, the tearing rind of a mikan, three lines of gold jingling against each other. There’s more, sometimes, smoke of both a cigarette and something small and round ( an explosive, she thinks in the back of her mind, the word firestar resting on her tongue), but tonight is a blurrier night. Tally can barely even remember the next morning if she saw any more flashes after that.
And in every single dream, tonight’s being no exception, the last thing she remembers is sinking into an endless sea, dark waters closing in over her head as the sunlight above her grows dimmer and dimmer before it finally fades away.
Everything starts to get fuzzier and wobblier the next morning, as dreams often do, but Tally’s seen these particular things enough times that they usually stick in her head. They’re specific, familiar , but she knows with a damning certainty that she’s never seen them before in her life.
(So why does it feel like seeing an old friend after years apart?)
They aren’t always the same, her dreams, and she muses on them as she gets dressed for the day. Layers upon layers of stiff white and pale yellow, all pulled on by herself, unlike how her mother wants it done. Mother always says the servants should be the ones lacing her corsets and straightening her hair, but Tally prefers to do it herself. It just feels wrong to make someone else do it when she could easily manage on her own. Still, she can only do it her way because the servants like her enough to not tell. Tally is sure she’d get in trouble if her mother knew she was going against her direct orders.
Let the servants handle it, she says, it is fitting of their position. They serve, we command.
Mother always likes to bring up status and position when she talks to Tally. It’s stifling, undoubtedly so, but what can Tally do about it? No matter how much it rankles in her mind, she is the child and her mother is the adult. She is the little girl here, the lowest rung of the family’s social ladder. In the chain of command amongst her own family members, Tally sits at the bottom, taking orders from everyone. Above the servants, perhaps, but always below her parents.
No matter how much she dislikes it, there’s nothing she can do. This is how it is and this is how it should be. Tally has no room nor grounds to go against that.
Sometimes, though.
Sometimes she wants to cause problems . Mother and Father would disapprove, she knows they would, and she’d receive unimaginable consequences, but maybe it would be worth it. Maybe everything would finally feel right instead of wrong.
The library is off-limits to Tally. Being off-limits, however, has never been a very good deterrent to the child who grew up on deception and discretion, which means that going into the library is really only against the rules when somebody is looking.
Her parents are out at some sort of business meeting or event right now — she doesn’t remember what it’s about, but she does know that twelve-year-olds were very much not allowed to attend. Instead, she’s been left home alone with strict orders to stay in her room and orders for the servants to bring her the dinner that her parents had the chefs prepare. It’s likely something sparse and ‘healthy’, which means she’ll still be starving afterwards, as usual. Apparently, it’s good for noblewomen to be unnaturally bony or something, because she’s always getting scolded when she tries to eat more than what’s allotted to her. Tally thinks it’s weird and stupid, but, well. She doesn’t get an opinion on the matter.
It is, in fact, her search for a snack that leads her to the library in the first place.
Unsure of whether or not the chefs had left already, Tally creeps through the hallway with careful steps, avoiding every creaky floorboard and skirting around the decorative vases as she heads for the kitchen. If the chefs are still there, she’ll just say she came to ask about the salad. It had a new dressing this time, which is the perfect excuse for her to have questions.
Her father would disapprove of her asking questions , of course, but he’s not here right now and Tally doesn’t plan on informing him. Quite frankly, it’s not his business if she wants to ask a question, no matter how much he wants to act like it is.
(Tally never acts this defiant in front of him. She wants to, but every time she tries, it just won’t happen.
Maybe she’s just a coward.)
The library looms to her left, the dark wood of the door seeming even more ominous than usual in the dimly lit halls. The servants must have already been around to turn off the lamps, leaving only a few wall sconces for Tally to see where she’s going. That bodes well for her mission, at least – if the lights in the hall are off, the kitchen is a lot more likely to be unoccupied.
But.
The library door still has her attention.
She can’t bring herself to walk past it, not now that it’s intrigued her. Tally’s mind is reminding her of just how much trouble she’s going to be in if she’s caught in there, reading of all things, and yet…
Tally can’t bring herself to continue on. Something about the door, the taboo of the library and all the information it must hold, is calling to her. In the back of her mind she’s practically screaming about what a bad idea this is, but a stronger urge is overpowering it with ease.
Go inside, it seems to tell her. It’ll feel right .
And isn’t that what she’s wanted all along?
As if moved by invisible strings, Tally slowly moves towards the door, her hand coming up to grasp the brass handle with a deceptive lightness as she pushes down on the latch and nudges it open. The door swings inwards without so much as a creak. Inside the library, it’s black as the night outside, barely a haze coming from the sconce behind her to illuminate it.
Well. Tally isn’t afraid of a little darkness, thanks very much. She’s come this far, after all, and it would be stupid and a waste to give up now.
In one smooth movement, Tally hops through the doorway, freezing for a moment once she’s past the threshold. When nothing happens, she feels both relieved and a bit silly, turning to the wall to look for a light switch. The thud of the door swinging itself closed behind her makes her jump, but a second later her fingers brush over something familiar and she presses down, making the sconces scattered throughout the library flick on in a wave starting from the beginning of the long room and spreading all the way to the end.
It’s huge. Shelves upon shelves of books in well-made leather bindings lay before her, each one tall enough that she can’t see past it. Off to one side is a window with black velvet curtains framing it, the glass smudged over with some sort of black paint or polish to prevent any light from coming through. Briefly, Tally wonders why the window had been covered like that, but she quickly loses interest as she heads for the shelves.
There’s something relaxing about it, something calming , about the countless books surrounding her. They feel like a barrier, protecting her from everything she doesn’t like about the world. Nothing could possibly hurt her within these walls of paper, not her parents nor her fate. Nothing short of an explosion could shake Tally here.
As if she’s in a trance, she ever-so-lightly runs her fingers over the spines of the books closest to her, scanning the titles one by one. There are books on various places and people, histories of each Blue, histories of kingdoms and battles long since dead and done. A Treatise of the Oykot Kingdom is the first thing to really catch her eye, but when she goes to pull it from its place on the shelf, she finds that something is stopping her. This one just… doesn’t feel important. Sure, the binding is shiny, but it was really only the shimmering gold inlay that drew her eyes to it.
Tally shouldn’t read this one. It’s not what she’s looking for.
Not… what I’m looking for? She thinks a second later, reflecting on her thoughts with a mild confusion. But I didn’t come in here to look for anything. Why did I think that?
Why, why, why? Her mind always makes her think the strangest things, make the strangest of connections, and yet, Tally finds that she’s never actually wrong . If her instincts tell her this book isn’t the right one, then she’ll trust them and leave it on the shelf.
Continuing on, she puts the book on Oykot out of her head as she keeps running her fingers over the books. The texture is familiar, though she’s sure she’s never been in here before. The only reason she would be reading with permission would be if her mother gave her another book on etiquette or, god forbid, seduction . She’s twelve, for god’s sake, and her mother already expects her to be worrying about that? But then again, all that Tally’s parents want is for her to marry someone above her own standing and boost their status. Why would a trophy wife need to read?
She’s never able to point out that maybe she doesn’t want to. One side of her is still desperate to please her parents, willing to go along with whatever plan they set out for her, but the other side is screaming that this isn't right. This isn’t how it should go. Her parents shouldn’t be this way, Tally shouldn’t be this way. The internal conflict makes her head hurt, and she can never reach a conclusion no matter how hard she tries.
Her fingertips brush over spine after spine of old books, the leather soft and worn to the touch. She doesn’t feel the inexplicable sense of wrong , but she doesn’t really feel anything right either.
And then, she does.
Tally stops abruptly, hand resting over a book that doesn’t look any different from the rest at first glance. The only notable difference is that it looks somewhat older than the rest, and it appears to not have been opened in a very, very long time. The top is coated in a thin layer of dust that clouds up as she pulls it off of the shelf.
Blowing the dust out of her face with a scrunched grimace, Tally wraps both arms around the enormous book and prances over to the window seat, plopping down and giggling. Finally, finally , she’s found something that clicks. Something that feels right . She turns the book over, delicate fingers brushing against the smooth cover. The front reads: Akuma no Mi Encyclopædia, 1393 Edition .
Akuma no Mi – devil’s fruit, her mind translates. She knows that phrase. She’s never heard it in her life, but she knows it as clearly as she knows the sun rises at dawn. Opening the book, she begins to read, mind slowly filling with stories of powers beyond anything she’s ever seen before. These fruits seem like fairy tales, a myth of making the impossible possible, and yet, she believes it wholeheartedly. There’s not a shred of doubt in her mind that this book tells only the truth.
Edevane Talliance has been alive for twelve years and three months when she discovers the existence of Akuma no Mi, and for the first time in her memory, something finally feels completely right.