Chapter Text
Kingsley had never known their parents. Their mother and father had passed away when Kingsley was just a baby, and it had lived with its Tita Amara and Uncle Bertram for as long as it could remember. As far as Kingsley was concerned, Amara and Bertram basically WERE their parents, and they couldn’t have asked for better ones.
Under the care of Amara and Bertram, Kingsley was brought up in a world of free-spirited creatives, surrounded by art of all forms from day one. Tita Amara and Uncle Bertram were both artists—Amara made jewelry and Bertram worked in one of Felicity’s many print shops—and they encouraged Kingsley to pursue its own artistic passions, whether that be copying bird calls for hours on end or bringing buckets of mud into the house to sculpt with. An extremely lax parenting style in the eyes of most of Felicity’s residents, but a way of life that work just fine for the little family of free spirits.
As artists, Amara and Bertram were active members of Felicity’s art community, always eager to work with other creatives and support their endeavors. Kingsley was brought along to galleries, plays, mural paintings, and every other art event since before they could even walk. Although Kingsley found the sitting and being quiet aspects of these events to be unbelievably boring, every time there was an opportunity to join in and do something, it was the first to volunteer. Over the years, they developed quite the reputation for their eagerness and creative inclinations, a reputation which earned the appreciation of one Mx. Quest.
The Playwright—along with their spouse, Cooper Caligayahan—was liked well-enough in Felicity, although their belief in the Harkers separated them from the crowd, something that made them an oddity in Felicity much in the same way that Tita Amara and Uncle Bertram were considered odd. Odd attracts odd, and Kingsley found themself at Coop and Mx. Quest’s house more often than not, whether tagging along with Amara and Bertram for tea or heading over by itself to play with the props and instruments the Playwright had stashed away in their studio. As long as nothing ended up broken and everything was cleaned up at the end of the day, the Playwright was more than happy to teach Kingsley how to play whatever instrument caught its fancy that day and to share their writings on the Harkers with it.
After a while, Kingsley was gifted one of the empty rooms in Coop and Mx. Quest’s house to use as their own personal space whenever they came over, which quickly morphed into a second bedroom for the child, or as they preferred to call it, their ‘throne room.’ It was a bit small, but that was alright. A truly great monarch could rule from a shoebox and still command respect. The ‘royal court’ was a bit lacking in members, however, with only a single knight and an ambassador in the ‘palace.’ The Croon must have smiled upon the odd little family, though, as change would come soon enough to fill the house with friends for the young king.