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?
His gaze shuddered, wavered. Faltered and shied away under Chulane's steady glare. It wasn't as though the thought never occurred to him. And in the moment when he lit the fire, he had been fine with it. The story of the Hale family had been a tragedy from the start. It had seemed fitting, somehow, to let it end on the same note. It had always been a path littered with spider lilies, a dirge, an ode to lost hope and shattered dreams. When he set his house on fire, Korbin had committed himself fully to the ashes, been happy to consign them all to oblivion. It didn't matter if everyone else forgot, as long as five ravens could fly together again. The rest of the world did not matter.
But Loren had ruined all of that, when he dragged Korbin out of the house. Forcing him to remain by magic and chains of debt, while everything else went up in flames... Korbin wasn't sure he would ever forgive the man for robbing him of that beautiful ending. Everything from there on was chaos, a mad caleidoscope of disjointed thoughts and emotions he couldn't make sense of. Still couldn't, even though the colors had faded and only showed various shades of black.
Korbin had been fine with being forgotten. But... it kind of hurt to think that no one would recall Weaver's name if he was gone. Surely someone would... She had lived all her life here, there was no way that she hadn't impacted the lives of others.
Us against the world.
But... maybe they had done it too well. He had only seen her, and it looked as though she had been the open one, the sharing and caring one. Had it only been from his perspective? Was she actually closed off and secretive too? He knew the Scythe had been her mask, just like the smiling jester had been his. Knew the soft, bleeding girl beneath, strong because she had to be. And Korbin admired her fiercely for it. But... did anyone else know how much she loved the color green, and the scent of living plants? How it only took a few sweets and a few compliments to become her best friend? Offer up a cupcake and a dagger in the same breath and she would go to war for you. Didn't they know how desperately she craved the acknowledgement of the gods, and how happy she had been when Ludo finally answered her prayers?
Didn't they know? Hadn't they seen? What were they doing, when they looked without seeing what was right there?
Korbin had grown still, tears streaming but the sobs gone, caught up in a different kind of maelstrom. "You're contradicting yourself. First I should live for her, then for me, and now both... Which is it?" he muttered, somewhat absently. Strangely clear, even if his mind seemed a million miles away. A part of him was a bit offended that his worth in living was for others to retain some piece of Weaver. Was that all he was to them?
And then he caught the irony, the hypocrisy of his own thoughts and it almost made him laugh. No, he was laughing, a helpless hiccuping sound that was half hysterical and a lot desperate.
"Gods, she would hate having to leave the narration of her life to me... Always had to add something to my songs. I don't... She would..."
But he lost track of where he had been going with the thought, so exhausted that he was back to slurring again. Crying fucking hurt at this point but it just wouldn't stop, and he didn't know how to make it.
"I just.. fuck, I miss her so much."
Something hard and brittle crumble in him with that laugh, and as it gradually returned back to those tearing sobs, Korbin finally relented. A hand reached out, fumbling and blind as it groped for... what? A hand, a support, something to break? He didn't know, it didn't matter, might not even last, but it was the first time he actively created an opening, revealed a crack in the thick wall of negativity and denial he'd built up around himself.
And gods, but hadn't he been stubborn about it.
But Loren had ruined all of that, when he dragged Korbin out of the house. Forcing him to remain by magic and chains of debt, while everything else went up in flames... Korbin wasn't sure he would ever forgive the man for robbing him of that beautiful ending. Everything from there on was chaos, a mad caleidoscope of disjointed thoughts and emotions he couldn't make sense of. Still couldn't, even though the colors had faded and only showed various shades of black.
Korbin had been fine with being forgotten. But... it kind of hurt to think that no one would recall Weaver's name if he was gone. Surely someone would... She had lived all her life here, there was no way that she hadn't impacted the lives of others.
Us against the world.
But... maybe they had done it too well. He had only seen her, and it looked as though she had been the open one, the sharing and caring one. Had it only been from his perspective? Was she actually closed off and secretive too? He knew the Scythe had been her mask, just like the smiling jester had been his. Knew the soft, bleeding girl beneath, strong because she had to be. And Korbin admired her fiercely for it. But... did anyone else know how much she loved the color green, and the scent of living plants? How it only took a few sweets and a few compliments to become her best friend? Offer up a cupcake and a dagger in the same breath and she would go to war for you. Didn't they know how desperately she craved the acknowledgement of the gods, and how happy she had been when Ludo finally answered her prayers?
Didn't they know? Hadn't they seen? What were they doing, when they looked without seeing what was right there?
Korbin had grown still, tears streaming but the sobs gone, caught up in a different kind of maelstrom. "You're contradicting yourself. First I should live for her, then for me, and now both... Which is it?" he muttered, somewhat absently. Strangely clear, even if his mind seemed a million miles away. A part of him was a bit offended that his worth in living was for others to retain some piece of Weaver. Was that all he was to them?
And then he caught the irony, the hypocrisy of his own thoughts and it almost made him laugh. No, he was laughing, a helpless hiccuping sound that was half hysterical and a lot desperate.
"Gods, she would hate having to leave the narration of her life to me... Always had to add something to my songs. I don't... She would..."
But he lost track of where he had been going with the thought, so exhausted that he was back to slurring again. Crying fucking hurt at this point but it just wouldn't stop, and he didn't know how to make it.
"I just.. fuck, I miss her so much."
Something hard and brittle crumble in him with that laugh, and as it gradually returned back to those tearing sobs, Korbin finally relented. A hand reached out, fumbling and blind as it groped for... what? A hand, a support, something to break? He didn't know, it didn't matter, might not even last, but it was the first time he actively created an opening, revealed a crack in the thick wall of negativity and denial he'd built up around himself.
And gods, but hadn't he been stubborn about it.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
