It’s not dying I’m afraid of
Everything is so black and white for him. In her brother’s world, he can only be one thing, which for him and for too long, has been a martyr. He falls on swords he doesn’t even need to fall on, though also on many he did need to. They’d had no choice, after all, once Erebor had died. She could not be everywhere at once. The problem is that once he did it, he’d gotten a taste for it. A taste for the accolades that came with living martyrdom.
They were both well known in Halo. Their story was no secret, not in a small town, not when it’d been so gory and delicious. They were treated with both respect and pity, a strange mix of the two things that was alluring, tantalizing. Did you hear about the Hale siblings? she can imagine someone saying. The whispers, the way the story was told just out of their hearing, after one of them had passed. Poor souls, the listener might reply, and they would tuck the information away for later use.
Kindness came hidden, in Halo. Extra tasks for Korbin to do, an easier and slightly unfair trade in his favor. That kindness came less now, though still, they received it. Weaver was very aware of it, but Korbin? He simply saw what needed to be done, or what he thought needed to be done, and did it. Never did it cross his mind that perhaps something didn’t need to be done, but the task had been given simply as a reason to give ‘those poor Hale siblings’ a little extra of whatever good that person could offer. He’d grown so used to the tasks before him that he saw no other way to live. She couldn’t broaden his view, couldn’t make him realize that perhaps some of the things he did had not all been as needed as he might think. People of Halo were tricky like that.
”I never said you had to look far,” she says, kindly enough, though with a bit of humor in her voice. ”You could play music at the Kraai, you know. Instead of washing dishes. We have dishawasher already.” He could be with her and live his own life all at the same time.
They were both well known in Halo. Their story was no secret, not in a small town, not when it’d been so gory and delicious. They were treated with both respect and pity, a strange mix of the two things that was alluring, tantalizing. Did you hear about the Hale siblings? she can imagine someone saying. The whispers, the way the story was told just out of their hearing, after one of them had passed. Poor souls, the listener might reply, and they would tuck the information away for later use.
Kindness came hidden, in Halo. Extra tasks for Korbin to do, an easier and slightly unfair trade in his favor. That kindness came less now, though still, they received it. Weaver was very aware of it, but Korbin? He simply saw what needed to be done, or what he thought needed to be done, and did it. Never did it cross his mind that perhaps something didn’t need to be done, but the task had been given simply as a reason to give ‘those poor Hale siblings’ a little extra of whatever good that person could offer. He’d grown so used to the tasks before him that he saw no other way to live. She couldn’t broaden his view, couldn’t make him realize that perhaps some of the things he did had not all been as needed as he might think. People of Halo were tricky like that.
”I never said you had to look far,” she says, kindly enough, though with a bit of humor in her voice. ”You could play music at the Kraai, you know. Instead of washing dishes. We have dishawasher already.” He could be with her and live his own life all at the same time.
weaver
it’s dying without ever having lived
