(Late morning of April 8th, 2014)
Lacië hated Mondays. She hated mornings (she considered anything earlier than her 2pm alarm to be too early). So, the two of them smashed together were a match made in hell. She shivered in the dawn of morning, the cold breaths of mid spring curling around her neck and earlobes. She clutched onto Laura’s jacket, watching Delael slide the car into the driveway. A bludgeoned Andy sat in the passenger seat, her head lolling over with early slight movement of the vehicle. Her golden eyes were swollen shut and her sockets were bruised to a dark violet. She moaned, and Delael laid his hand on her thigh gently. He pulled the keys out and stopped the engine.
Lacië cracked the door open, stepping back out into the spring cold. She breathed heavily, a thin cloud of smoke spilling out from her shivering lips. Her steps crunched against bitter, frozen grass. She stumbled to her front door, to find her lock blocked.
It was blocked by a note, stamped with authority.
Laura held Lacië steady as she approached, ripping the paper away from her door. The parchment was fresh. The ink wasn’t even dry yet.
Good morning King-household!
I’m sorry to ruin such a morning, but under your crimes against parliament I’m afraid you cannot reside here legally. No one is innocent, despite on what you may believe. William King was not a hero. He was destruction. He was dangerous. Your following of his beliefs is considered equally unacceptable
You have 24 hours to pack and get rid of any necessities you absolutely need.
Have a nice day!
-President Mariet Ryuko
Lacië King had never felt such anger in her life. Her gray pupils grew dark and her corneas were bloodshot. Her lips tried to rip open and scream out, but her will held back her urges. She tore the flesh of her bottom lip with her front teeth, her own blood filling her mouth. She tried to be calm. She wanted to be calm.
Her fierce eyes met Laura’s soft ones, and she fell into the shapeshifter’s arms. Her cries were silent, but they weren’t ignorable. She snivelled and shook. Her eyes painfully shut their iron doors, darkness leaving the mortal plane behind her.
Delael stood behind her with Andy delicately held in his arms, his jaw pressed open. He breathed heavily and looked up into the sky, his eyes distraught and dangerous. ‘How could you let this happen, Father?’ He exclaimed, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘You sent me down to protect her and you blessed her future! Blessed her with what, hmm? Homelessness?!’ He angrily shouted out, his lips clamped shut. With every angry shout, his forehead burned and throbbed. He still held Andy strong, watching Lacië’s unfolding angst.
‘I never said it would be easy for her, my son.’ A thick voice boomed in his ears. ‘I sent you down because her path would not be easy to follow. She needs your guidance and protection now, more than ever. I trust you, son. She will make it through this, but it will not be easy.’
Delael stood stiff as a board, his head igniting and exploding. Normally, he did not speak with the Lord, solely because of the side effects of their communication. Andy stirred lightly and Lacië was crying.
Delael and Laura shared a look.
What else could go wrong?
Xavier did not usually like white (he also didn’t like 10 hour flights to new continents, but that’s none of our business, right?) But, being that he was stuck in a room filled with over 50 shades of the pigment, he had received a new appreciation for it. He awoke to a startlingly yellow light being shined centimeters away from his paled face. He cringed, squinting his eyes shut in shock. He tried to cover his face with his limber fingers, only to find them burning at even a fraction of stimulus. He bit down on his lip, peeking his left eye down at his wrist.
