KORBIN
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
To make you bow and spit it out?
It would have been easy to ignore the question. To let the woman stew in her apparent displeasure until she tired and moved off, to someone who would more readily offer comoanionship and explanations. She was an Outlander, that much was made obvious by her question, the way she looked around, though she was far better dressed for the climate than most he had seen so far.
But something in her mannerism made Korbin look back up. A nagging, persistent feeling of gazing at something familiar. Maybe this wasn't Weaver, but they were cast from the same mold. Strong, fierce, confident. Accepting no bullshit. Merciless, no doubt. It was all in the fierce stare she leveled at him, and it made his mouth quirk, dangerously close to a smile. Riddled with fresh pain that did little to soften his features.
"Someone who died. My sister." He still couldn't bring himself to say her name out loud.
But something in her mannerism made Korbin look back up. A nagging, persistent feeling of gazing at something familiar. Maybe this wasn't Weaver, but they were cast from the same mold. Strong, fierce, confident. Accepting no bullshit. Merciless, no doubt. It was all in the fierce stare she leveled at him, and it made his mouth quirk, dangerously close to a smile. Riddled with fresh pain that did little to soften his features.
"Someone who died. My sister." He still couldn't bring himself to say her name out loud.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
