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?
There came no objection from Korbin, no protest against the brutal retaliation she demanded in case such hurt would be delivered. His silence was a mute acceptance, a wordless vow, a pact sworn in shadows and firelight... It was ironic. Mere days ago - a week, two? - he wouldn't have cared about Noah's eventual pain or lack thereof. Would have been fine with causing it himself to escape. Things had changed again. Snowdrifts piled up and eroded under the merciless passage of wind, leaving nothing untouched. Already he was different from the boy who had been happy and safe under his sister's wing, daring to dream of ever after. Who would he be when the sun returned? A season from now, a year? Would he live to light a candle for her, to make a lantern in her name?
"Here is fine," he said, refusing the bed. Already his thoughts were growing hazy, muddled with the soporific effects of the brew. He was so exhausted, so spent; it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge into sleep. Whether the dreams would leave was another matter. Fire kept haunting him, fire and ice and a pool of crimson in the snow, the quiet grunts of a man as he slowly choked in Korbin's arms.
"So many shadows... They keep whispering. Sweet nothings, and you wanna listen, but you shouldn't. 'Oh Mother, it's the Eirachi calling.'"
The half chuckle sounded bitter, and with it Korbin fell quiet. After a while, his head began to droop, chin falling down to the chest. The lines of his face smoothed, turning it less haggard, less harsh. In the simple act of falling asleep he turned back from monster into a boy - just a boy - with unkempt hair and dirty clothes, and eyes that were red rimmed from crying.
"Here is fine," he said, refusing the bed. Already his thoughts were growing hazy, muddled with the soporific effects of the brew. He was so exhausted, so spent; it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge into sleep. Whether the dreams would leave was another matter. Fire kept haunting him, fire and ice and a pool of crimson in the snow, the quiet grunts of a man as he slowly choked in Korbin's arms.
"So many shadows... They keep whispering. Sweet nothings, and you wanna listen, but you shouldn't. 'Oh Mother, it's the Eirachi calling.'"
The half chuckle sounded bitter, and with it Korbin fell quiet. After a while, his head began to droop, chin falling down to the chest. The lines of his face smoothed, turning it less haggard, less harsh. In the simple act of falling asleep he turned back from monster into a boy - just a boy - with unkempt hair and dirty clothes, and eyes that were red rimmed from crying.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
