CHULANE
He hated to do it. Hated to inflict pain on another. Hated that his words hit like a whip's lash, hated that every time he said her name the boy cringed, winced, grimaced, as though the emotional blows were physical. But he persisted, for he was getting a reaction, more than he ever before - and he hoped it would lend itself into a less bumpy road in the future. Right now, the road was barely a path in a swamp, covered in danger and muck, dragging both of them down.
The boy looked at him, eyes crimson and wet, scorn and hate clear on his voice. That look might have made Chulane flinch before, but now he simply stared back, his own eyes misty from emotion, but no tears were yet shed - not my time to feel. It was Korbin's time, to feel something other than the grief, the depression, the ideation of an action that would take him from this world too. It was cruel, it was unfair, and Chulane knew this, but still he would persist. He had to, had to try, to make this attempt, for even as they got deeper into the pit of Korbin's despair, they got closer to the apex, which meant they were closer to moving past the worst of it - he could hope, could dream, could try to believe it, at least.
"There is so much more to say." Deep voice resonated, strong still, but thicker again from the emotion that threatened to tear a sob through his own voice. He swallowed it, and spoke again. "Tell me about Weaver. I know she's gone. Tell me about Weaver."
The boy looked at him, eyes crimson and wet, scorn and hate clear on his voice. That look might have made Chulane flinch before, but now he simply stared back, his own eyes misty from emotion, but no tears were yet shed - not my time to feel. It was Korbin's time, to feel something other than the grief, the depression, the ideation of an action that would take him from this world too. It was cruel, it was unfair, and Chulane knew this, but still he would persist. He had to, had to try, to make this attempt, for even as they got deeper into the pit of Korbin's despair, they got closer to the apex, which meant they were closer to moving past the worst of it - he could hope, could dream, could try to believe it, at least.
"There is so much more to say." Deep voice resonated, strong still, but thicker again from the emotion that threatened to tear a sob through his own voice. He swallowed it, and spoke again. "Tell me about Weaver. I know she's gone. Tell me about Weaver."
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
