MissingPiece (Trafalgar Law x OC)

Trust, Destiny, and Mathematics

|1 Week Later the Polar Tang|

Sorna sits alone in the dimly lit quarters that once doubled as her infirmary. The medical apparatuses have vanished, yet the ghostly echoes of the heart monitor lingers in her head, reminding her of the ordeal. She has fully rejoined the crew, though the shadows of her abduction have cast long lines across her relationships—some have frayed at the edges, while others have woven tighter bonds.

Law, ever the enigmatic leader, offers his silent support from a measured distance. His daily examinations are thorough, searching for the scars of trauma that might explain the transformation within her. Yet, his findings bring a subtle wave of disappointment; he yearns for a tangible ailment to cure, restoring the Sorna he once knew. But the fact of the matter is, she has irreversible changed.

With each resurfacing memory, a piece of her old self fades, replaced by revelations that carve her path forward, one that may diverge from Law's shadowed journey. In this dance of light and dark, Sorna embraces her role, guided by the intricate revelations that unfold her destiny, uncertain yet unyielded, whether it converges with Law's or leads her down her own path.

Sorna gets up, slipping into her jumpsuit and casually knotting its sleeves at her hip. Her steps, though light, echo with the weight of her week-long catatonia. Dragging a weary hand down her face, it's as if she hasn't truly rested for months. A heavy sigh escapes her as she navigates the corridors of the Polar Tang, drawn as if by fate to the one place she has shunned like a curse.

Before the doors of the med bay, she pauses, her gaze piercing through the window to the sterile sanctuary beyond. The sight of the all-too familiar, gleaming steel and untouched surfaces stands as a reminder of her darkest hours, sending a shiver down her spine. Unwelcome memories awaken, each one a chain that binds her to moments of vulnerability and despair.

Her breath catches, a tremor running through her hands as she raises them. Despite her instinct to avoid this place, she pushes the door open and steps in. With a courage born of necessity, she presses forward, stepping into the heart of her fears. That single step is a declaration, a defiance against the forces that sought to imprison her spirit.

As she crosses the boundary, a barrage of memories invades her mind. As if each time she was dragged through those doors against her will is walking with her. Her tiny screams falling on deaf ears. Yet, in facing this onslaught, Sorna reclaims her autonomy, not as a victim of her past, but as the maker of her own destiny.

She strides towards the steel table at the heart of the room, her touch tracing the chill of the metal with a delicate yet commanding grace. The drill's haunting buzz lingers in her mind. With a deliberate blink and a steadying inhale, she claims her seat upon the table. She lifts her hair and allows it to fall freely over the table's edge, a pale blonde waterfall to the ground. The table's cold rim meets the base of her neck, a threshold between strength and weakness. She surrenders to the moment, her head tilted back, gazing upside down at the room she's known. With one foot planted firmly, knee bent in quiet defiance, she weaves her fingers together, resting them upon her core with contemplation.

Whispers of calm weave through her trembling thoughts, her lips fluttering with silent chants.

'Embrace within, I shall not fear. Unseen, unfelt, my path is clear.'

With each repetition, her world quiets until the creak of bay doors and the soft patter of approaching footsteps pierce the silence.

'Law.'

With a fluid grace, Law claims a seat on his stool, gliding to the table's head. To Sorna's side, he settles, his back to the cabinets. He crosses an ankle over the other, hands clasped lazily behind his neck, embodying ease.