UHM YES PLS LET DANTE FIND VERGIL CRYING ..... or any of the others if u want bc that could all be gold. -venseance
Send 💦 to encounter my Muse crying || Not Accepting.
It had been a few days since he left the shop, not particularly keen on keeping track of time during that expedition. From Capulet, he went all the way back to Red Grave, not leaving any clue of his whereabouts behind---Dante should not expect him to be around 24/7 either; over the years, he had convinced himself that being busy, or trying to be so, was a great distraction from the evergrowing feeling of loneliness that always wallowed in his soul.
He convinced himself that he was going to look for their family’s legal assets, paperwork confirming their legal existence in the city as residents, as well as lay claim on their father’s bank account. From what he had read in several journals of his, he seemed to have quite the income from selling off several pieces of classical art, pledges from people that expressed their gratitude towards him this way. It would probably be a way to save Dante from the debt, either way...
Traveling there was the easy part---staying there was what troubled him the most. Upon seeing the house atop the hill, rampaged by his own demonic side, he only felt grief for the destruction caused---the marble floors were stained by fire, the furniture was broken and shoved to the sides of what used to be chambers. Prancing around halls, entering rooms and finding memories, under the beds, behind the stairs, inside the closets. For a whole day, maybe more, he seemed to have lost current time from his senses, eyes glazed in echoes of images, rediscovering a house so familiar, so warm. He could swear he could hear Dante laughing warmly into the room next door, the sound of two pairs of feet dashing past the corridors. Mother’s voice and the scent of strawberry marmalade---all the things that made this his home.
He didn’t know for how long he had been standing before the fireplace, gazing up to the portrait of their family, ruined by the smoke of the fire. Every thought pointed to its direction in the end, this very item being the harsh reminder of what hid behind the wanderings of his mind; the reality of this never coming back, of it being only a memory. And it hurt. It hurt more than he would ever like to admit. If only he could change it all, go back in---No; even more so...
Could he just wake up, five years old, cuddled in the bed with his little brother and tears in his eyes; tell his parents he had a nightmare and they’d say it was only that. A nightmare.
Vergil had been crying with sobs, in the end---in this ghost of a home, lost into times past, into blood and screams and fire. And it burned still; it burned his skin off as his control run lower and lower and all that was left was a devil on his knees, clawing his chest open, shedding tears of melted gold and it burned...
IT BURNS!!! The more his talons dug into his chest, he roared in the voice of a-- can you hear it? --- the sound of a baby crying ---
and then it hushed; two arms wrapping around him --- another pair of clawed, red hands grabbing onto wrists...
HOLD ME---HOLD ME TIGHT while the world crumbles and forever fades; you are in me and i am in you. the sides of one coin, one being... one--- O n e ...
