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?
Korbin slept. It was no peaceful sleep, nor was it deep. Whether it did any good was hard to say, and when he woke up alone in the dark room he felt worse than he had before, if that was even possible. There was a foul taste in his mouth and he had a splitting headache that set white lights flashing before his eyes as he sat up.
It took him some time to get his bearings. The fire had almost gone out, and in sheer instinct he dragged himself over to the hearth and began to stack wood on the smoldering embers. One log at a time, he stacked them up and added some kindling, blew until a flame appeared, and then he just sat there. Staring numbly into the fire, as if waiting for it to tell him what he was supposed to do now.
The fire did not speak. It never did, these days. Not since Weaver left. With a shudder, Korbin reached for the blanket and drew it about himself, huddled in and almost about to drift off again.
It took him some time to get his bearings. The fire had almost gone out, and in sheer instinct he dragged himself over to the hearth and began to stack wood on the smoldering embers. One log at a time, he stacked them up and added some kindling, blew until a flame appeared, and then he just sat there. Staring numbly into the fire, as if waiting for it to tell him what he was supposed to do now.
The fire did not speak. It never did, these days. Not since Weaver left. With a shudder, Korbin reached for the blanket and drew it about himself, huddled in and almost about to drift off again.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
