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?
Unpredictable. Yeah. That was an understatement. Try vicious, violent, painful and disruptive. Unreliable. As soon as you thought you understand how something worked, it changed. You were born and it was all just a descent into madness from there on, with occasional glimpses of horrible clarity.
Sometimes Korbin felt that this, the state he was in now, the darkness and pain and despair, this was the true awakening. Reality at its most profound.
He looked up when she approached, wary and watchful. For a while he just stared hard at the cloth, at the distance she held, and he felt shame and irritation rear up inside when he realized that she was afraid. Cautious, in case he would lash out again. Gods, what kind of monster had he become? Korbin made himself take the rag, slowly, every motion carefully restrained. Because there was an impulse to just jerk it away from her, but wouldn't that just feed into the darkness?
The cloth was cool against his eyes. The sting lessened somewhat as he passed it over them, again and again, until he just let it rest over the face and tilted his head back to keep it in place. Blinded, unable to see, removed from the necessity to look anywhere. The ghost of Weaver appeared on the inside of his eyelids, and she was smirking at him.
"No healing," he said hoarsely. Magic couldn't - shouldn't - be allowed to fix this.
Sometimes Korbin felt that this, the state he was in now, the darkness and pain and despair, this was the true awakening. Reality at its most profound.
He looked up when she approached, wary and watchful. For a while he just stared hard at the cloth, at the distance she held, and he felt shame and irritation rear up inside when he realized that she was afraid. Cautious, in case he would lash out again. Gods, what kind of monster had he become? Korbin made himself take the rag, slowly, every motion carefully restrained. Because there was an impulse to just jerk it away from her, but wouldn't that just feed into the darkness?
The cloth was cool against his eyes. The sting lessened somewhat as he passed it over them, again and again, until he just let it rest over the face and tilted his head back to keep it in place. Blinded, unable to see, removed from the necessity to look anywhere. The ghost of Weaver appeared on the inside of his eyelids, and she was smirking at him.
"No healing," he said hoarsely. Magic couldn't - shouldn't - be allowed to fix this.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
