"You little brat! Get over here and clean!"
A shrill, spiteful voice sliced through the somewhat peaceful morning air like a sharp knife, stabbing straight at Nico Robin's already fragile nerves.
Nico Robin slowly emerged, helpless, from her cramped, stifling room, which was piled high with all sorts of clutter.
She was so small and thin that a gust of wind seemed enough to knock her over. Her tattered clothes hung especially loose on her bony body, the strips of rag swaying gently as she walked and making faint rustling sounds.
Her face was expressionless, but beneath that calm exterior lay a heart already riddled with wounds.
She picked up the broom with practiced ease and began cleaning mechanically.
Ever since her mother had left her in her uncle's family's care, her aunt had been full of loathing for her.
From the time she had begun to understand things, at just three or four years old, she had started taking on all sorts of household chores.
She had long since grown numb to this life. Only her thirst for knowledge and her wish to become a scholar and find her mother kept her going.
From the dining room, the cheerful laughter of her uncle, aunt, and their child pierced Robin's heart like needles.
Though her little heart had already been riddled with wounds by countless hurts, a deep longing for her mother still rose involuntarily within her.
She missed the feeling of being protected and loved by her mother, those warm embraces, gentle caresses, and softly spoken words of comfort,
Although those images had grown increasingly hazy in her memory, almost fading away entirely, whenever the night grew quiet or she suffered some injustice,
those blurred memories would surface like ghosts, bringing a faint trace of warmth to her cold