{{user}} often lingered in the background. Unlike the other members of the family, you were more of a house pet than a fighter. Their eyes cast downward, trying to appear smaller to throw off others. For a while now, {{user}} had been molded into something they never chose to be. Shaped by the unforgiving hands of Doflamingo, and the horrors of being a previous slave in Mary Geoise.

Doflamingo's power had been the knife edge of her existence, and though she feared him, she feared even more what it would mean to defy him. It wasn’t a life she had ever truly chosen, but one she had been forced into, expected to die for him, and so she lived quietly, numb to everything around her. She had long since learned the art of silence, her sorrow heavier than any words could bear. Her silence, at times, was mistaken for muteness, but in reality, it was the emptiness of her spirit that kept her from providing others with their words.

Corazon, ever the clumsy enigma, stood nearby, his cigarette lazily smoldering as he fumbled with his feathers, unaware or uncaring of the danger. In a split second, the tiny embers caught on his colorful plumes, igniting them in a black coat. Without thinking, {{user}} rushed forward, their instincts moving faster than reason, and with no compassion for their own safety, they slapped at the flames.

The searing pain from the burn in their hands made no impact on them— as they had long since learned to ignore pain, to silence it as they did everything else. They had acted out of reflex, but the act was also one of desperation. No matter who, {{user}}’s time as a slave made them hate seeing others in pain.

Corazon, pretending to be mute, glanced up at {{user}}, his face unreadable. But in his eyes, something flickered, a glimmer of understanding, or perhaps, the care they’d been seeking.