It was then that I saw him.
He wasn't human. He couldn't have been. Not looking like that. For one, his skin was gold. Not yellow. Not fair. Gold. As in, his body looked like it was made of gold. Like he was a living, golden statue.
He didn't have any hair on his body. Instead, he had markings, like someone had given him tattoos with a chisel instead of ink. They were all over his body, from the top of his bald head, down to his toes.
He was big, with a wide, deep chest and arms that would have made weight-lifters the world over weep for joy.
Under it, he was wearing a loincloth and nothing else. And, he was seated on a throne.
I kid you not. This being was seated on an actual throne.
I stopped walking. I just had to.
There was something about him that just radiated power. Not strength. Power.
Just from looking at him, I could tell that this being could do things. Many things. Maybe even anything he wanted.

Then I noticed a chilling detail.
On his middle left finger, he was wearing a ring. And not just any ring. It was the same ring as my mother's. I frowned and turned to look at my mother, to ask her - for the umpteenth time - what was going on, only to see that she was kneeling down.

I didn't even know that she'd let go of my hand.
And even more confusing was that she wasn't just kneeling down. She was bowing. Her head was pressed against the floor and her hands were held together like she was begging.

The being on the chair spoke. His voice was like nothing I'd ever heard before in my life. It was low and heavy, like how a bass guitar would sound if it learned how to talk.
"Wife," he said to my mother, whose head was still pressed to the floor. Then he turned to me, with eyes that were so black, they shone. "Son."

*

Okay. Let me explain why I freaked out.
For one, he called my mother, "wife."
Now as far as I knew, Mr. Israel Ayala was my father and my mother's husband. He was short and dark, with hair that was slowly turning grey. And he was an undying Barcelona fan.
I mean, sure, he was difficult at times, but that was part of what made him a dad. That was what made him my dad.

So, hearing a demon - I was sure of it now - call my mother "wife" was understandably upsetting.
And then, there was the other thing, where he'd called me "son."

The first problem with that was that it implied a paternal relationship to me. I couldn't speak for anyone else, but I sure as hell did not want anything to do with a golden, glowing, black-eyed, throne-sitting, loincloth-wearing demon.

And all of that was before we even got to the most important problem. Which was the fact that I was a girl.

So, son? Nuh-uh.

Not even as a joke.

I wrote the above a while ago and I'm really curious to hear what people think about it.

Drop a comment, or two, and tell me what you think.

AntiNormal:
I wrote the above a while ago and I'm really curious to hear what people think about it.

Drop a comment, or two, and tell me what you think.

Well,1st to comment here;
It just started yet carries such suspense. It spells totally great story. keep it up....plus if u keep dropping it as hot as it started I might just be ur biggest Fan.
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P.s.
pls try checking my book too.....
love your work already

Deep

Nice twist
*chuckles* now I'm wondering if she has a brother and he's behind her