𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐲

🎨 nicolas kae-knott 🎨

parents' personalities
it was difficult not to enjoy nicolas' parents. gwenyth and clive were your classic hipster parents. clive had long dreads his kids loved to play with, and played in a band once he got back from his day job (a boring office job, he'd always say, that he loved only because it let him pay for what his kids wanted). he had excellent taste in beer, and often took the other parents (the ones who did like this) out to microbreweries, should they enjoy beer as well. he had tattoos and went to a liberal arts college, and danced with their mother in the living room. gwenyth was a child development expert, actually. she did her best for nickie, even when she realized he wasn't quite like every other child. especially once he received his adhd diagnosis. whenever she grew too serious, clive would liven her up. she was a loving mother, just as loving to her children's friends as to her children. she often hosted, as she was a delightful hostess. she had an eye for interior design, and a great ability to cook (healthily, of course). they both believed in exploration, but perhaps nickie explored too much.... they worried, but they didn't want to compromise their philosophy. his mother taught yoga classes on the side, and his father also grilled the best fish you've ever had in your life. they were well-loved.

siblings
molly kae-knott, 3 years younger, deceased at 10. she was another firecracker of a child, with long curls and a bossy streak. she was always wanting to take command of any situation, and ironically, she also wanted to copy her older brother all the time. she played basketball at school and begged for her own pet lizard, who she named kirby. yeah, she was the resident mario kart expert. she loved to photograph the moon.
harvey kae-knott, 6 years younger, deceased at 7. harvey was a quiet child. his parents used to say that the other two stole all the fire out of the gene pool. he liked for nicolas to fix all of his problems by coming over and helping him with his schoolwork, or helping him put his stuffed animals away, or finding the good channels on the tv. he was good at school, and often was made to cry by his older sister. he carried a stuffed rabbit everywhere by the ears. he liked to go with his mother to work, when he didn't have school, and he'd walk the rounds of the office and take candies from every secretary.

backstory
— when he was thirteen, his home caught on fire. it was an electrical malfunction, some said. others said it was one of those candles his mother insisted on using. it went up in flame quickly. he was locked in his room, one of the ones furthest away from the fire, and that was the only reason why he lived. the fire entered the room eventually, with nicolas desperately trying to open that one window that always got stuck like this, and he suffered burns across his arms, back, chest, and neck, and smoke inhalation. his family died that night. he was the only one who was able to be rescued.
— at the funeral, nickie didn't cry. he even gave a speech, the suit hiding the tender wounds across his body that would soon heal into scars. he didn't shed a single tear. he was still frozen. he couldn't believe it. he found himself oddly calm. they were just at the grocery store without him. they'd be back soon. he was numb, watching himself from afar.
— he had to go live with his grandparents rather far away since, but since they were aging, they sent him off to a rather fancy boarding school for the arts, called bannerman. he left in the early morning one day. he's never returned to his hometown since the day of the funeral. until now, he supposes.
— he was forced to attend grief therapy. but he wouldn't talk to the therapist. he clammed up and kept clamming up until the day he moved away. he still has to go once a month. he still hasn't said a word. he doesn't want to talk about the nightmares or about the insomnia and the sleepwalking or the dreams he's had where his siblings are all grown up, or the guilt, or why he hasn't even visited home once. and his obsession with fire. his art is his therapy, he says. this is just foolishness. expensive foolishness.
— his art has gotten strange since then. he used to draw such nice, realistic portraits, his grandparents said, which was why they sent them there. since then, he makes huge abstract murals in a rather disturbing style. he struggles to sleep. he just paints instead. he struggles to think straight. he just paints instead. eventually, he painted himself into a few museum showings, several awards, and the status as one of the more talented students at the school, which only made people wonder even more about him. nicolas just asks them to move if they're standing too close to his art. maybe he never fully escaped the numbness. maybe he just added the anger that sometimes overcomes him when he tears up his canvas. maybe he just added the sadness and jealousy that floods him when others talk about their families. maybe he just added a sick, twisted guilt that keeps him up at night. he doesn't talk much. some people think he's mysterious. a tortured artist, who sometimes wears a beret because his girlfriend got him one as a joke and likes to see him wear it.