KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
It wasn't right. This wasn't him. He was aware enough to realize that, yet he remained so caught up in that haze of memory, of half-hallucination that it was impossible to tear himself out. There were gaps in his awareness that frightened him just as much as the times when Weaver's hands were replaced with others - frost-blackened, hard nailed, gray with filth and the blood of humans - and it didn't help to close his eyes. Those scrabbling hands remained even in the dark of his own mind.
Why now? Why was it hitting him so hard now, and not when it happened? The hours after the fight with the cannibal, he had been just fine. Talking, laughing, even singing like it was any ordinary day. But now... he couldn't get it off his mind. It haunted his dreams, infected his days, until finally this happened.
"I can't... get it out of my head," he croaked, a quiet rusty whisper. Korbin flinched slightly when the cloth rasped against his sore wounds, but didn't stop Weaver. Was barely aware of anything beyond the visions that filled his mind.
Why now? Why was it hitting him so hard now, and not when it happened? The hours after the fight with the cannibal, he had been just fine. Talking, laughing, even singing like it was any ordinary day. But now... he couldn't get it off his mind. It haunted his dreams, infected his days, until finally this happened.
"I can't... get it out of my head," he croaked, a quiet rusty whisper. Korbin flinched slightly when the cloth rasped against his sore wounds, but didn't stop Weaver. Was barely aware of anything beyond the visions that filled his mind.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
