the world dies over and over again
He has dreamed of wings many times, but never white. No, not in his family. Their wings were always black; some black as pitch, others tinged with the blue of evening, but always, always black. Their backdrop was rarely a beautiful blue sky, but rather towering mountains, flames, and destruction. Once, he carried black wings on his black. Ha, once. He thinks that like it was so very long ago, but it wasn’t. They were there, tucked against his back when he fell through the crack in the world and emerged here, sopping wet. The shock of coming to in some strange world still controls his thoughts though and he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out how to survive than he is with the loss of his wings. The thought, truthfully, hasn’t quite settled in, though it will, when quiet settles over him or he first goes to use them and realizes they are simply gone.
Little does he know they morphed, transforming him into something other, giving him the ability to become the animal from which his wings were once shaped. That realization is for another day though. For now he is distracted by the voice that finds him, cheery enough, asking if he’s okay. What a loaded question that is, though certainly the other man doesn’t mean it as such. Still, Korbin finds himself silent for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer that. Part of him doesn’t want to admit that no, he’s not okay. He’s really really not okay. Still though, he is his mother’s son, and to admit that is to admit weakness.
He takes a moment to compose himself, to tame his racing thoughts. The man that approaches him looks to be about the same age, though shorter (a thing that is not uncommon in Korbin’s world). He was always a weed, and though he’s technically a boy with plenty of muscle to show (a product of having two brothers and the most vicious sister, along with simply trying to survive in the mountains), there’s still something lanky and lean about Korbin. Couple that with his boyish face, and he doesn’t look like he quite grew up, which he’s perfectly okay with.
“Nothing’s broken, I think, so I guess I’m okay. Though, as crazy as it sounds, where am I? I’m not entirely sure how I ended up here. Fell, landed here. Some strange shit happened, I guess.” There, an answer, a bit rambling and not exactly composed, but he keeps his easy, careless demeanor in place almost as if this happens to him every day. Though it definitely, definitely doesn’t. “I’m Korbin, by the way.” He adds, knowing he needs to have manners at the moment because he needs an ally right about now.
korbin
but the skeleton always gets up and walks
