Crow

Chapter 6

 Corbin paced through the halls, the only light in the moonless twilight his golden candlelight. His face was reflected by the copper candlestick he was holding, grim determination distorted in its surface. He wore the shadows like a coat, the frost his only company in the frigid night. The letter, so carefully written, was held delicately in his right hand, as frail as the silence surrounding it and yet weighing in his hand like the purest of leads. In his soul, something throbbed, not pain or sadness. Corbin felt as if he'd been scrapped raw, all layers of protection burned away into ashes, leaving his bloody, beating heart vulnerable to any vultures to pick on it. His walls had been broken down, rubble left in its wake, a mere child left in the aftermath.

His masks worked no more. He could not force a smile any longer.

In front of him, the heavy beech there stood like an impenetrable wall, yet a faint light could be seen coming from underneath. He filled his lungs with burning air, exhaling as he carefully maneuvered the letter to his inner pocket, and opened the door to Father's study, arming himself with what few defenses remained within him. Father was there, of course. There he was, surrounded by his countless books and crushed velvet carpets, a stoked fire he never let Corbin touch behind him.

Sitting in his desk, he barely looked up from his papers, not even deeming Corbin worthy of a "hello." He merely pushed his cold, bitter tea and said, "Fetch this before you close up the kitchens. My Dove hates it when the teacups stain."

Corbin remained immobile, letting the minutes pass as he formed his scattered words.

"What do you want?" Father snapped, a fierce expression on his face. "Are you just going to wait there the entire---"

"Why didn't you ever tell me about Mother?"

"What?" Father looked up, his ocean blue eyes widening. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Sir," he spat out the last word and, with every second that passed, cold realization filled Corbin's veins, an unwilling truth lurking in the deep and dark corners of his mind.

Why did he ignore you all these years?

A shadow fell upon Father's face, the dips and valleys of his face sinking and his skin turning dull and sickly. "There is nothing to say. It's not for me to tell you about your mo--- her."

Why is he so hateful whenever he sees you?

"So you chose for me not to know her at all, Sir?" Corbin's voice broke, a silent scream escaping through the cracks and gaps, an irreparable fissure in his heart. "To lay content with the fractions of the moments that I still remember? To be left alone like a broken, defective toy that is not so fun to play with anymore now that you have newer, shinier ones?"

When was the last time he ever spoke to you?

Father jumped up from his desk, frenetic energy in every twitch of his muscles. "How dare you tell me that? You do not know what I had to do!"

Has he ever told you he loves you?

In a moment, it was as if everything that had ever happened in Corbin's life clicked and, just like the lit fuse of a well-made bomb, exploded.

"I do not know because you never told me! Never spoke to me!" Corbin couldn't understand how one could love and hate a person so much at the exact same moment. "Even before Mother died, you never did. At every opportunity you had, you just left me to gather dust from your shadow."

Does he love you?

Father brushed a hand through his black hair, creating quite the opposite effect to what was probably intended, "What brought this on? You never act like this, you just stay quiet and do everything we say. You're always so good when you say nothing."