Revelation: something revealed or disclosed, especially a striking disclosure, as of something not before realized.
Late afternoon and evening of April 3rd, 2014
Lacië was examined under the fine toothed comb of Bädli Rymor’s eyes, feeling very naked under the glare of his glances. It took several minutes for her identity to be recognized and for him to greet the teenagers.
“Little King, you look exactly like your mother.” He spoke lightly, stepping out into the mild light of midday. Rather than a sea of dreadlocks and undoable regret, a soft pillow of lilac hair spread across and down his shoulders. Bright mossy eyes endearingly looking into Lacië’s gray ones. Lacië took a fearful step back, nearly falling into Andy’s impressively toned arms. Why did Badli Rymor take the shape of her mother? Why was that what he chose to do?
“She would’ve loved to have known you, Lacië King. You’ve grown into a fine young woman.” A stolen voice spoke to her, cracking and breaking with every syllable replaced. “Sorry, it’s been a long time since I’ve last spoken to her. Over 20 years, to be completely honest with you.” His voice deepened, finding one that Lacië held very deep to her and hadn’t heard enough times in her life.
In Bädli Rymor’s door frame stood a man Lacië missed more than any other. She willed herself to run up and hug him, as this was the furthest from her father. A much younger version of her father, but it was still William King down to the hairs of his thin eyebrows. Closely cut mahogany hair and five o’clock shadow. Her same strong jaw and straightened teeth. They were yellowed. He began to smoke and drink after Meridan died, trying to hide both habits from his daughter. But she caught him after he dashed the ashes into the newspaper pile, setting them on fire and burning half of their house down. He said he was sorry. She forgave him.
“I like this form better.” Bädli spoke with William’s voice, which he had stolen easily without consequences or any dreams of punishment. William King was so far dead that they could hear him crying from the grave. “I didn’t know Meridan well, but I used to work very close to your father, Lacië.” Skeptically, the youngest King raised an eyebrow at him. The shapeshifter shrugged, letting the joke fall flat, and ushered only Lacië into his house. Xavier tried to follow, but was left behind the slammed door.
Lacië followed him inside his shack of a home, his hand only grazing her left shoulder blade as he led her forward. Eerily, the door creaked shut audibly and shut her out from her friends. She need not worry though. If her father trusted this man, then she could too.
She was led through a dark maze of connected rooms, leading to one that was different from the rest. It was brighter than all others, and was one of the only ones to hold any seemingly functional furniture. It had a couch, a computer desk and a dining room chair fraying at the legs.
Bädli gestured at the couch with his hands, taking his seat at the computer and booting it up. Lacië didn’t hesitate, breathing in a layer of dust that flew up from the couch. The fabric covers were torn and barely functional, the springs attempting to insert themselves manually into Lacië’s ass. She squirmed to get comfortable while trying to decipher Bädli mumbling and grumbling. She stared at him, awaiting a grand introduction that she also knew she wasn’t going to get.
She got up from her fairly uncomfortable seat, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Sir, why am I here?” She asked rudely and impatiently, her foot tapping angrily and rhythmically. His head snapped up, his length of dreadlocks melting into strands of icy lilac. Rather than towering over her, he met her fearful gaze with fierce gray eyes. The two Lacië’s stared each other down.
