A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors
It was twilight when she arrived.
The light of the setting sun, amber hues mixed with deep reds, heralded her arrival as she walked up the street. Her house, a quaint thing that her parents had worked hard to provide, was on the outside a imitation of her own life: a state of disrepair. A broken step by the porch, a series of missing shingles, and countless blemishes to the paint was only just a few example. Still, it was home, and after the day she had she couldn't be happier to be back.
Dying, it seemed, made one appreciate what they had.
She idly noticed that her dad was home, evidenced by the car in the street and the light in the living room window.
She frowned. Hopefully this wouldn't be awkward. He always worried too much.
She maneuvered around the broken step, leaping to the top in a feat of agility she wasn't aware of, and quickly made for the door. A quick jingle of her keys, a twist of the lock, and she was inside.
The smell of dinner hit her instantly, some kind of pasta dish, and she couldn't suppress a smile. She was home. She wasn't dead.
A voice called out from the kitchen, her dad, "Is that you, kiddo!?"
She quickly stepped out of her shoes, racing to the voice.
The kitchen was simple, much like the rest of the house, a few appliances with a sink and an out of date refrigerator. A table with a few chairs lay to the side, a small eating place for the family. Her father, like herself, was tall and thin, dark hair with glasses and a complexion befitting someone who worked on the Docks. She had inherited a lot of her traits from him, a keen mind with stubborn nature along with the clear physical resemblance.
He put down a wooden spoon, the implement dripping with some kind of sauce, and turned to her footsteps.
"Taylor, where have you be-"
She slammed into him with a force she hadn't meant, forcing him into a backstep against the counter, and hugged.
She was alive. Dad was here and everything was fine.
Her mother's death had affected them both, and their relationship had withered as a result. Both were naturally reclusive, introverted by nature, and her mother had brought them together with her energy and love. With her gone, it seemed like something had also went away between them, her family splintering so much more than she had ever wanted. She had wanted to fix it, wanted to sit around watching movies, having fun, like they used to do. In the middle of the tragedy she couldn't think past her own sorrow, couldn't see just how much her dad had been affected. By the time she had recovered enough to try to move on, to keep walking forward with her life, it had been too late. The damage was there, they both knew it, but neither could bring themselves to address it.
Then the bullying began. Survival had been the priority after that.
After a moment she felt his arms encircle her, completing the hug. It was good to be back.
He spoke, his voice quiet and full of mirth, "Not that I'm complaining, but what brought this on?"
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Instead, she squeezed a bit harder, enjoying the moment.
He grunted at the action before speaking, "Say, when did you get so strong? Have you been exercising?"
Her breath caught in recognition and she relaxed her hug.
She had powers. She had to be careful.
"I'm just happy to be home."
She blinked away the heat in her eyes. Tears would only complicate things.
They stayed that way for a minute before separating, Taylor sporting a grin at the rare smile on her dad's face.
A face that twisted into confusion at the sight of her.
"Where are your glasses?"
She blinked, resisting the desire to touch her face in confirmation, and attempted to keep her face straight.
"I left them at school. Its what took so long to get home. They're in my locker, which got stuck, and there wasn't anyone around open it for me."
He looked at her, searching for something only a parent could see, and nodded slowly.
"Well, I'll give you a ride to school tomorrow. Its not safe to be walking around the city with eyes as bad as yours."
She nodded.
He smiled at her acceptance. Her stepped aside, unveiling the bubbling sauce and the spaghetti setting in a box, and continued, "It'll be an hour before dinner if you want to wash up."
She smiled and nodded, barely suppressing a shudder. She could still feel the filth on her skin, the bugs tearing at her.
A shower would be good. Multiple showers. A lifetime of showers.
She left the kitchen in marginally better spirits than when she arrived, her mood dropping quickly at the realization that she had partially lied to her dad, an action she did not relish, and that she had almost outed herself.
She had left her glasses at the workshop, a place in some other dimension or world. How was she supposed to explain that?
She needed to be careful. She had some measure of enhanced strength now, something that might harm a normal person. Hugs, handshakes; everything that revolved around tactile contact she had to be watchful of.
She stopped and turned back, looked down a set of stairs, many cracked with age.
How had she gotten up here? How many steps had she actually taken?
She shook her head. This was going to take getting used too.
