It was Harold's turn to stare at her in disbelief.  She couldn't really be serious, could she?  Acting as if all this was real, that she was really the daughter of a god.  When she insinuated that one of his parents wasn't really his parent, his eyes grew dark, his hands clenching into fists at his side.  "Listen, bitch, my  parents love each other; neither one of them would do anything like that to the other."  Though, in the back of his mind, he could help but think about how little he looked like his pop.  He had a few of his mother's looks, but not enough to have gotten them all from her.  He had wondered about it before, but always figured he got the rest from her side of the family.  His father had never acted like Harold wasn't his, never mistreated him in any way.  Of course, if he wasn't his father's son, then he probably wouldn't know.<br/><br/>"My parents didn't tell me anything, only that this place would be good for me, that it would teach me what I need to know to survive in the real world."  Thinking back on it, his parents had been kind of urgent in getting him out here, almost as if they were worried about something.  And there was that incident, a few weeks before they sent him here.  There had been a disturbance out in the backyard, his pop going out to investigate.  Moments later, there was a racket, his father yelling, and what sounded like large wings flapping in the air.  When his dad came back in, he was cut up and bleeding.  His father refused to talk about what happened with Harold in the room, and he never found out what it was.  Afterward, it was obvious they were hiding something from him, but they wouldn't say what it was, no matter how hard he pressed.<br/><br/>Looking back at Sarah, he folded his arms across his chest.  "Alright then, if this isn't some weird role playing camp, then what the hell is it?"