A/N: This is a concept that's been on my mind for awhile. Doflamingo is an incredibly interesting character and in some ways his very being seems to spit on the concept of 'Don Quixote.' In fact his entire being is to disparage anything Quixotic...

But, this is precisely because his father was idealistic, as was his mother, brother, distant relative. He had never seen an idealist prosper and so clung to reality. Yet, what if someone managed to teach him the lessons of his namesake? It seemed worth exploring.

Spoilers up until chapter 910

"For with his Dulcinea, so to stand, a man can do quite anything, outfly the bird upon the wing, hold moonlight in his hand. Yet if you build your life on dreams, it's prudent to recall-a man with moonlight in his hand has nothing there at all."

~ Man of La Mancha ~

They called me Dulcinea.

That was my first clue.

It could have been worse, I could have been named for a horse. But no, that was my brother's fate. Instead I was Dulcinea, the unattainable beauty, the thing of dreams. Donquixote Dulcinea sister to one Donquixote Rocinante and Donquixote Doflamingo.

They called me Dulcinea, and I wept. For Dulcinea was naught but flame and air. Dulcinea, I knew, did not truly exist.

I was nearly six years younger than Doffy. I want you to think about that, I was born on May 19th, 1490. Six years after Doflamingo, five after Rocinante. I was born nearly fifteen years before the start of the series. I was born ten years before the Great Pirate Age.

Roger was still alive, so was Rouge.

I was born with so much knowledge; I knew about Pluton, Poisidon, Noah, about the men from the moon and the Road Ponoglyphs. I knew about the not so vacant-vacant King's seat, heck about the hat, not that I truly understood what that was about. Still, I was born with so much knowledge, chief of which was the certainty that I could trust no one.

Well, Luffy, if our paths ever crossed and he took a shine to me. But even he owed allegiance to his crew first, no, when it came to surviving in this world I knew that I could trust no one. And yet, I needed someone. I was not Mihawk, I couldn't exist, an island onto myself. Even he couldn't keep it up; seeking out Shank's for friendship and gossip.

This left me with quite the quandary for how could I rely on someone I did not trust?

The answer would take me years, and many painful lessons, but eventually I would learn that I could trust someone with my future, without entrusting them with my past. I would learn the meaning of 'crew' in this world, and I would relearn the meaning of 'family.'

A lesson that started at the tender age of 2 when we left Mariejois for the "real world," forsook our place amongst the "gods" and all at the behest of our Papa. Now, if I had been a normal child that 'real' world would be all I could recall. But I wasn't normal, I'd had 24 years of life shoved into my small mind, there was no way I was forgetting those 2 years of bliss.

For that's what they were.

Oh, built on the blood and sweat of others. Responsible for outrageous atrocities, the kinds of things that made one sick to contemplate. But, objectively? The most comfortable place to live on the planet.

Life was amazing in Mariejois, I never wanted for anything. Mom could spend hours just playing with me, dad would let me flip through books even though I had "no way" of understanding them, and Rocci would fly me in the air like a plane.

Better yet, Doffy would avoid me like the plague. (It would be years before I realized why). But 2 years came and went in the blink of an eye and heaven turned to hell in seconds flat.

I don't recall a feeling beyond "hunger" for that first year. I was just in an endless state of hunger and pain. I was too small to go out and find food with my brothers but I refused to be a burden, and so tried my best to care for our ailing mother. But again, I was 2, my "care" mainly amounted to me sitting by her bedside singing long-forgotten songs.

Doffy always shot me indecipherable looks when I did this. But I ignored it, Papa claimed I was just gifted by the Heavens with an angel's voice. And Rocci never complained about anything I did. Momma smiled. I think that's why Doffy never outright called me on my clearly advanced intelligence, I had the ability to make Momma smile. And if there was one thing Doffy cared about it was preserving that smile.

Songs and smiles can't cure disease, however, and before long we lost our mother. Things only got worse from there. Had I been a normal child, I have no doubt I'd have died back then. As things stood, however, I knew how to survive. I'd been kept from the villagers, hidden away in that small cottage, which meant they hardly knew how I looked.

At the grand age of 3 I traded my fancy (fading) threads from Mariejois for a tablecloth-dress, rubbed some charcoal in my hair to darken the color, adopted the name "Aldonza" and took to the streets.

Between the 3 of us I was always the most successful at begging. And so, took extra care to never be seen anywhere near (let alone with) my brothers. It paid off in our continued survival, but even then I agreed with Doffy that it was barely living.

And then, one day, they came, with pitchforks and blindfolds, and hatred in their heart. My "disguise" quickly crumpled around me, and it didn't matter that I was barely 2 feet tall, I was a Celestial Dragon and therefore was worth less than the dirt beneath their feet. (Wasn't reverse racism wonderful?)

I was strung up just like my brothers. Felt the sting of arrows and the heat of flames. Heard myself begging for the sweet release of death, and worse, heard the voices. Over-and-over, echoing in my soul, a hundred voices filled with hatred.

Kill them!

No! Death is too kind.

Show them our pain! Make them suffer like us!

Let's see your noble blood protect you, now!

It choked me, infested my mind, made me hate them, despise them. I didn't unlock conquerors, I didn't have Doffy's disposition, but I did learn something about myself that day: if it was a choice between the world and my brothers, I'd choose my brothers.

After all, the world never chose us.

I never hated Papa, not like Doffy.

Papa was an idealist, a dreamer. He saw the world not as it was, but as it should be. I couldn't hate him, not for that, not when in my heart-of-hearts I was the same. He was, in all the ways that mattered, the embodiment of our family name. Don Quixote de La Mancha; the knight of the woeful countenance.

I didn't hate him, but I did blame him. After all, Alonso Quijano had the good sense not to force others on his quest. All those by his side were there by choice.

We never got a choice; Doffy, Rocci and I. Our opinions hadn't mattered, nor our thoughts, just Papa's vision. And while I could agree with his vision the fact that he'd enforced his reality on us had always grated. Even more so when he'd executed his vision so poorly.

Perhaps I should have spoken up, perhaps I should have stepped in. But, honestly? It had seemed more cruel to stop Doffy at that point. Especially when I could hear father's voice echoing in my soul.

Doffy, Rocci, Dulci-I'm sorry. I don't deserve to be called your father. If pain is all I've brought you, then I would rather d-

BANG

That was the first time I'd heard a person's "voice" grow dim. But it was hardly the last. Not with my brother standing there, face indecipherable, holding out his hand.

"Well?" Doffy called, back to Rocci, ignoring his cries, "are you coming?"

Doffy would ask me this question many times over our lives. Each circumstance different, but it would never matter, because every time his inner voice would whisper the same thought.

Well, do you still love me?

And damn it all, I did. He was my brother, they both were, but while Rocci would find a replacement for Papa, Doffy never would. Of the two of them I knew who needed me more.

"Do you even need to ask?"

This was a world of demons and angels. A place where strength of Will was only trumped by taint of blood. A world in which even those closest to you could not be fully trusted. This is a world where one needs to think of themselves and their needs if they ever hope to survive.

Yet, for all my practicality, I was still a Donquixote. Madness ran in my blood. And at the grand age of three I concieved of the strangest project ever imagined-

I'm going to save this child...

-to fight forces, and foes, I didn't fully comprehend. Take on a world drenched in darkness alongside the heels of Machiavelli himself. To face wickedness head on, and not run, nor fight, but rather embrace it with the love a sibling.

...from himself.

In some ways, I think, Luffy has it easier.