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𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔀𝓷 (𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽)

𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Chapter. 39

It took Vergil time, but he finally admitted it. And that admission weighed heavily in his heart. He liked her. Enough to enjoy her presence, which was rare, considering how deeply he despised company. He flipped absently through Blake’s poems, eyes skimming lines he already knew by heart, words dissolving into static He was in deep thought. Why. How. When. He had felt his resolve weaken the moment he had apologised to her.Yet he trusted his discipline, trusted that he would never let a spark grow into flame. He had kept his distance. Almost. She had been the persistent one. Why him? Him with all his scars. Him with his sins. Why? The questions throbbed into a headache. Suspicion carved loopholes into every memory, every gesture. It was exhausting. He exhaled and went downstairs.

She was asleep, leaning over the hard desk, as if comfort had been an afterthought. He stopped beside her, studying the faint crease between her brows. A nightmare, perhaps.

He didn’t like that idea. Not at all.

There might be something haunting her dreams, something he could not cut down, could not confront himself. His hand moved before reason caught it, brushing softly along her cheek. The gentleness startled him. He drew back his hand as if burned, staring at his palm as if it had betrayed him. She stirred. He retreated to the kitchen, suddenly thirsty for anything that might quiet his thoughts. It didn’t help. How had he let this happen? When had he lowered his guard? Everything he had ever cared for had been destroyed before his eyes. He knew better than to reach for warmth. When he returned, she was sitting up, dazed, blinking at the room like a traveller unsure of her destination. “You’re awake.” Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes darted like startled birds. It was distracting. Endearing, whispered a reckless voice he tried very hard not to hear. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it. He mentally reprimanded himself. She responded with a casualness that was forced, but he didn't mind. She was clearly shaken by her dream, if anything. The silence stretched 2 seconds too long as he remembered the reason he came down. Dante. Time off. Something Vergil wasn't so keen on. Having her out of his parameter. His sight. But still decided to get past it because she did work hard around the place. A time off would be quite deserved. Nevermind the fact he debated this topic with Dante for quite some time. With not much enthusiasm he laid the news "Hmm..Dante said he wants to be a 'good employer' so you are free to take some time to yourself if you please." "Time to myself? You mean like a vacation?" she asked as if it shocked her that Dante would do something like that. "Well..um..? I'll thank him, I guess but I don't think I'll be taking a vacation." Vergil had to physically restrain himself from perking up, if he had a tail, it would be wagging. For Sparada's sake what was wrong with him? He mentally scolded himself yet again. "Why not?" he asked. A little puzzled over why she would refuse paid time off. "Well, I don't have much to do besides the shop and college and it's not like I'm mentally drained or exhausted or anything its been fairly nice. Especially since I've been stuck with online classes for quite some time, considering the whole..demon ordeal," she explained, "but I would take him up on the offer some other time. Maybe more so when I actually need a vacation." He nodded to her words. Quite satisfied with the fact that she wasn't leaving him them anytime soon. He felt lighter. The worry of her wandering out alone leaving his mind, putting him at ease. And then his hell spawn of a brother walked in shouting about some demon hunter party.Now see, there were reasons Dante still annoyed him and this was one of those. Vergil refused to reduce himself to such...standards. No. He didn't need to go to a party and walk amongst dimwitted morons with high ego and sharp pride. He truly believed demon hunters were amongst the dumbest of the human bunch. Holding their heads high just because they could rival demons. Huh. As if. 'Buisness purposes' he said, 'for trading arms,' he said while Vergil knew this was all untrue, she lay down the actual obvious reason. "Are you just going there to get laid?" the pause and offended scoff that followed almost made vergil break into a small chuckle. He was so off his rocker. He would mentally scold himself again but he had given up at this point. And then Dante talked on and on and on Vergil stopped listening almost as soon as he started defending himself. He was quick to announce he was not going. Now see. Vergil knew Dante was one hell of an asshole. Dante knew how to play Vergil. Vergil knew Dante had brought up that spuh whatever his name was to provoke him into going. Vergil knows damn well. Vergil knew. However, his affection for her seemed to win.

When they arrived, Vergil immediately understood two things.

First, the establishment was atrocious.

Second, he was going to spend the entire evening resisting the urge to cut the building in half.

The club pulsed with low amber lighting and streaks of neon. Shadows crowded every corner, constantly shifting with the movement of bodies and smoke. Music thundering overhead with enough force to irritate his senses, the bass vibrating through the soles of his boots in dull repetitive waves. Humans packed the place shoulder to shoulder, laughing too loudly, speaking too closely, touching each other far too casually.

Vergil stepped inside behind her, posture rigid beneath his dark coat, his gaze already moving with calculated precision across the room.

Entrances. Exits. Blind spots. Potential weapons. Potential threats.

Old habits did not disappear simply because one walked into a nightclub instead of a battlefield.

Especially not for him.

The scent alone was offensive.

Alcohol. Perfume. Smoke. Cheap cologne. Sweat.

An unbearable mixture clinging to the air thick enough to taste.

He could already feel a headache forming.

His gaze swept over the crowd once more, sharper this time, lingering long enough to notice what others likely thought subtle.

People were staring.

Of course they were.

A few men near the bar openly paused mid-conversation the moment they entered. A man leaned toward his friend and muttered something Vergil could not hear over the music, though the grin accompanying it was enough to make his hand twitch faintly toward Yamato.

Pathetic creatures.

Humans had a remarkable tendency to behave like starving animals.

One man in particular caught his attention.

Across the room. Dark shirt. Half-drunk already. Eyes fixed on her with irritating confidence.

Vergil felt annoyance tighten coldly beneath his ribs.

Without conscious thought, he stepped closer and placed a hand against the small of her back.

The contact was firm. Possessive.

A warning. Not for her. Never for her. For everyone else. The effect of which was immediate.The man’s eyes lifted from her to him. Recognition flashed across the stranger’s face almost instantly.

The white hair. The coat. The sword.

The man looked away so quickly it bordered on panic.

Good. Let them understand, she was not something to ogle at from across a room like some spectacle. Dim-witted fucks.

He was quick to notice Lady and Trish walking towards them. Dante gave him a nod as he went his own way. Vergil didn't like this. Not one bit. This was not his idea of fun at all. He had barely stepped in and this was already unbearable. The music, the hollering and shouting. Lady had already engaed into some conversation with (name) something about some investment guy. Thats when his eyes met Trish's. And her resemblace to his mother did not help the case at all. Is it alright for an almost demon king to feel like a 15 year old caught talking to the girl he likes? No. However he still immediately removed his hand cause he knew Trish and he knew in that moment he had layed something vulnerable on the table and she had seen it. Sparda help him. He found himself sitting next to her and listening to whatever the girls were talking about. Well, half listening. His attention was mainly focused on the monstrosity of a menu they presented them with 'gorilla fries', 'extra long weiner *wink wink*' what type of establishmnet uses such crude ways to address food? A few hours later into the night the two demon huntresses wanted him to play waiter. No. Vergil Sparda did not fetch drinks like some obedient errand boy. No. Absolutely not. He refuses to play waiter. But then they used her to get to him. Liking her had made him a weak man hadn't it. Wasn't this exactly what he had feared?

Well, on the first request he refused immediately. Flatly. Firmly. But then she started batting her eyelashes at him in that overly dramatic way of hers, and to his immense irritation, it almost pulled a smile from him. Almost. He rose from his seat before he could reconsider, muttering something half-hearted about her being pathetic as he clung desperately to the last fragments of his pride, then made his way toward the bar.

He repeated the order trish had given to him to the guy behind the counter and returned his gaze back to the table at the corner. She looked pretty today as well. Pretty is an insulting small word. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Just something about the way she spoke, made him wanna keep listening. His thoughts were abruptly cut off when someone touched his arm. He immediately turned to face them hand already at yamato's hilt. "Woah calm down handsome. Just checking if you actually were the infamous sparda" she said, leaning on the bar right next to him. He didn't bother with a reply instead chose to simply turn his attention back to the table. "So...not the talking kind? You really are nothing like Dante huh?" she went on. Sparda help him. He does not want to indulge in some foolish conversation. "I see your weapon of choice is a sword or katana or whatevr that is." Now that remark? It did bother Vergil. "Do you have nothing better to do?" He finally spoke up making her raise her eyebrow with a smirk playing on her face, "so he speaks! And here I thought I had to pay for your words." She said slightly adjusting his coat, the action was quick to annoy him, he swatted her hand away. "Don't." A warning. She pulled back and spoke up again after a few seconds of sweet silence. "Yamato is that right? You know you should try other weapons. Better ones. A sword only helps so much. Must get boring." She said and that hit a nerve "Do not insult my blade." His gaze sharpened instantly. Cold. Precise. The kind of look that made lesser men rethink entire life choices. “The day you understand Yamato,” Vergil said quietly, “is the day you stop calling it just a sword.”

She let out a small laugh, leaning further against the counter like she’d stumbled onto entertainment for the evening. “Right. Because it’s magical and legendary and whispers poetry to you at night?”

“It cuts through space itself.”

The amusement on her face faltered for half a second.

Vergil stepped closer, one gloved hand resting against Yamato’s sheath. Not possessive. Reverent. Like touching the hilt grounded something ancient inside him.

“Other weapons rely on brute force. Noise. Excess.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Yamato requires precision. Discipline. Control.” He tilted his head faintly. “Things I imagine you are unfamiliar with.”

“Cute,” she shot back. “Still sounds limiting. Guns have range. Bigger blades hit harder. There’s always something better. Hell I've used something better for sure.”

“Better?” A humorless scoff escaped him. Rare as snowfall in hell. “You think strength is measured by size alone?” “Well, that’s usually how weapons work.”

“No.” His voice lowered into something dangerously calm. “Weak men compensate with larger weapons because they lack the skill to make a single strike matter.”

That one landed. Her smirk twitched before it broke into a laugh "Getting worked up are we?" she said feeling his bicep. The motion made Vergil narrow his eyes as he pull away enough to make her let go.

She laughed under her breath. “You could at least pretend to enjoy the attention.”

“I do not require it.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

Her grin sharpened. “That sounded rehearsed.”

Vergil finally looked at her again, visibly unimpressed. “And this conversation sounds exhausting.”

“Ouch.” She placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “You wound me.” From the corner of his eye, he saw (name) walking away and was quick to get ready to follow but then he noticed she was headed to the washroom. His posture straightened, disliking the thought of not having an eye on her especially in a place like this. An escape from the migrane inducing conversation came when the bartender placed his ordered drinks in front of him and Vergil was quick to dismiss the woman who was still saying something to him. He walked over and placed the three glasses down only to recieve somewhat of a glare from trish. Now what was that for? Vergil couln't get himself to sit knowing she wasn't back from the washroom yet so instead he chose to linger near the door. (His version of linger being standing in one stiff posture a few steps away from the women's bathroom which looks comical but its vergil so we can let it pass) A minute or two later he saw her walking out and reached out to stop her. "What were you thinking wandering off in a place like this all on your own?" he said, more stern than he intended. He had expected words from her. Maybe some remark about how he needs to back off. Rightfully so. However this dismissal? The knit in the eyebrows and pulling back as if he was unwelcome? That. He did not expect. At all. Maybe its the alcohol. Maybe something happened in the washroom. Maybe he took too long to get the drinks so she's upset? He mulled over the reasons for such a reaction as he followed after her to their seat. When they sat down he thought she would reach out for her drink but when she didn't after sometime he verbally pointed it out to which she gave a mere nod. Something was wrong. Had to be. The sudden disintrest? The sudden mood change? Out of concern. Him and concern? "Is something the matter?" and in response she shoves her phone onto the table with quite some force. This behaviour from her was new. Uncharted. He'd never seen her behave like this. She started speaking up well almost shouting but lady was quick to cut her off. Vergil had never been outright rude to Lady. A bit offensive on occassions but never too much. In that moment. He had so many choice words to say. Cause he really needed to know what was even going on in her head. Why was she so upset? But he held back. They're going to the same place anyways. He'll ask when they get back. Vergil knew one thing forr sure. He dosen't like feeling like this.

Vergil had endured demonic sieges with steadier nerves than this.

The silence. Not the peaceful kind she occasionally carried after exhausting herself with endless chatter, but something colder. Sharper. A silence with teeth. She walked past him without a word, boots striking against the wooden floor with clipped precision, headed directly for the stairs.

Leaving.

Avoiding him.

Vergil frowned.

Before he consciously decided to move, his hand had already wrapped around her wrist.

“Speak to me.”

She stopped, shoulders tense beneath his grip.

“Ever considered I don’t wanna?”

The bitterness in her voice struck harder than expected. She yanked her hand back. Vergil let her go for exactly one second before taking it again, firmer this time.

“Being immature about whatever is bothering you is not going to help your case.”

He tugged her slightly closer, enough to force her attention onto him.

A mistake.

Because now he could see her expression properly.

Upset.

Not merely irritated. Hurt.

And somehow that was infinitely worse.

“No, because that’s what I am, right?” she snapped. “An immature kid. And you clearly need someone all mature and sexy and smoldering, don’t you?”

Vergil blinked slowly.

What?

For a rare moment, his thoughts genuinely failed him.

“You know what!” she continued when he said nothing.

“No,” Vergil replied flatly. “I do not. But I’m certain you can put it into words.”

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

“It’s… it’s…”

She looked away.

Vergil’s grip loosened slightly. Something inside his chest tightened instead.

“It’s?” he prompted.

“I… nothing.”

She tried to pull away again.

He didn’t let her.

“No. Not with that expression.” His voice lowered instinctively. “Did someone say something? Did something happen when you went—”

“You, Vergil! It’s you! I’m like this because of you!”

Silence crashed between them.

Vergil released her immediately.

Not from anger.

From shock.

He straightened unconsciously, posture sharpening into something battle-ready. An old instinct. One forged from years of conflict where confusion often came moments before violence.

“Explain.”

She groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down her face.

“Do you ever NOT command people?”

“When they speak without needing to be forced to.”

The glare she shot him could probably melt concrete.

“Fine. You want the truth?” she snapped. “You let that woman flirt with you!”

"...Flirt?”

“Yes, flirt! Hit on you, drool over you, whatever word you want! And you just stood there! All stoic and cool and ccting like you didn’t mind.””

Vergil stared at her, genuinely bewildered.

“I minded very much.”That woman had been irritating from the first sentence onward.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His jaw tightened.

“She spoke ignorantly about swords,” he muttered. “Claimed to have handled greater weapons than Yamato.” The offense still sat bitterly in his mouth.

“They are not merely swords,” he said sharply before he could stop himself. “They are legacy. Discipline. Proof I carved my path alone through strength.”

“Yeah, yeah, tragic backstory, honor, yada yada—”

“Do not reduce—”

“And do you get me?” she fired back, stepping closer now. “Because while you were lecturing her about swords, I was standing there feeling like an idiot for even thinking I mattered!”

“You do matter.”

The words escaped instantly.

Too quickly.

Too honestly.

Vergil froze.

Damn it.

He immediately adjusted his coat as though the movement could somehow hide what he had revealed.

It did not.

She stared at him.

Wide-eyed.

“Oh please,” she scoffed after recovering. “If I mattered, you wouldn’t act like none of this affects you.”

Because acting untouched is safer, he thought bitterly. Safer than exposing every vulnerable fracture beneath the surface.

“Because acting untouched,” he said carefully through clenched teeth, “is easier than—”

“Than what?”

His restraint snapped.

“Than showing you that you affect me more than you should!”

The confession thundered through the room.

Even Vergil seemed startled by the force of it.

“That woman meant nothing,” he continued, frustration sharpening every syllable. “She irritated me. She insulted my blade. She wasted my time.”

“And yet you stayed.”

“I stayed because I take pride in my blade. Not to entertain her fantasies. I only cut it short because I saw you fleeing.”

He stepped closer.

“I wasn’t fleeing.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow.

"...Fine,” she muttered. “I fled.But only because watching her drool over you made me feel stupid.”

“Why?” he was quick to ask.

“Because it felt like she belonged there and I didn’t!”

That finally confused him completely.

Vergil stared at her as though she’d announced the sky was green.

“And what,” he asked slowly, “makes you believe she belongs anywhere near me?”

“I don’t know! Maybe because she’s your type!”

“My...type?” The very idea felt absurd.

“Certainly not.”

“Oh? Then what IS your type?”

She stepped directly into his space now, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off her.

"Women who can quote blade manuals? Whisper about steel edges? Polish Yamato while—"

“No.”

The word cracked through the room instantly.

She blinked.

“Then what?”

She shoved against his chest. "Someone who worships you? Someone quiet? Someone—”

Another mistake.

Because Vergil’s self-control was already hanging by threads.

“You,” he barked.

Everything stopped. Even the air felt still.

“What?”

“You,” he repeated, louder this time. “You are.”

There.

Irrevocably spoken.

Vergil watched realization spread across her face while his own pulse hammered with unfamiliar violence beneath his ribs.

“You infuriate me,” he admitted. “You question me, provoke me, refuse to bow or flatter — and I cannot decide whether I wish to throttle you or—”

Every word only made the truth more impossible to deny.

He stopped.

Because there it was again.

That feeling.

Not battle.

Not power.

Something far worse. Something capable of undoing him entirely.

“Or what?” she whispered.

Vergil Sparda had faced monsters without hesitation.

Yet this?

This terrified him.

She stood inches away waiting for an answer, and for once in his life, words felt utterly insufficient.

So he chose action instead.

One hand slid against her jaw. The other settled at her waist before he could reconsider.

And then Vergil kissed her.

Not graceful.

Not careful.

Years of restraint fractured at once beneath that single moment.

Silence swallowed the shop whole. Even the world itself seemed to pause, as though stunned the son of Sparda had finally surrendered to something far more dangerous than any demon.

Vergil Sparda just might be in...right. Vergil kissed her carefully at first.

That alone should have warned him he was already losing control.

Careful was not how he fought. Not how he survived. Precision, yes. Restraint, certainly. But careful implied hesitation, and hesitation had nearly gotten him killed more times than he cared to count. Yet the moment his hands settled against her face, that was exactly what overcame him.

Hesitation.

Not because he did not want this. Because he wanted it too much.

Her skin was warm beneath his palms. Fragile in a way that made something ancient and protective stir unpleasantly beneath his ribs. He hated how instinctive it felt. Hated the immediate awareness flooding him. Her breath catching. Her fingers twitching slightly against his coat.

And worst of all, he hated how naturally his body responded to hers, as though some buried part of him had been waiting for this moment long before his mind allowed it.

So he pulled away first.

Of course he did.

Retreat was familiar. Retreat was safe. Only this time she did not allow it. The second he leaned back, she followed him.

Not timidly.

Not uncertainly.

She kissed him again before distance could settle between them, before he could rebuild the walls already cracking under pressure.

The effect was catastrophic.

Something inside Vergil snapped loose with terrifying speed.

Restraint fractured like brittle ice beneath heavy footsteps.

His hand moved from her face to her waist instinctively, pulling her closer before he consciously decided to. The other tilted her jaw upward with unmistakable intent as the kiss deepened, losing all the cautious distance he’d tried maintaining moments earlier.

And she welcomed him.

No fear.

No hesitation.

Just warmth and stubborn certainty wrapped around him like flame finding oxygen. Her hands clenched into his coat tightly enough to wrinkle the fabric. As if she feared he might vanish. The truth nearly made his chest ache.

Because she was correct.

A part of him was already preparing to disappear.

That was what Vergil did best. Withdraw. Sever. Abandon emotion before it rooted deeply enough to become dangerous.

But then she made that tiny pleased sound against his mouth, soft and breathless, and a low noise escaped him before he could suppress it.

The realization horrified him instantly.

He pulled back just enough to look at her.

A mistake.

Because now he could see her properly. Close enough to count every flicker of emotion crossing her face. Shock. Affection. Hope.

Hope was the worst one.

Hope implied trust.

And trust implied the terrifying possibility that she believed he could handle something this fragile without destroying it.

Vergil swallowed slowly, forcing his breathing steady.

“This...” he started.

The word died immediately.

Ridiculous.

He had stood before kings of the underworld with greater composure than this.

“I’m not good at this,” he admitted finally. “Never have been. Don’t think I ever will be.”

Every sentence felt dragged out of him with visible effort. Vulnerability sat unnaturally in his mouth. Heavy and rusted.

Yet she did not flinch. “There’s no harm in trying.”

The simplicity of it unsettled him.

Trying.

Such a human concept.

Fight. Survive. Win. Those things he understood.

But trying implied uncertainty. It meant risking failure for something that could not be conquered through force. And she looked at him like he was worth the risk anyway.

Vergil went quiet because he genuinely did not know what to do with that. Instinct screamed at him to retreat now while he still could. Before attachment settled any deeper beneath his skin. Before she became important enough to truly hurt him.

Or worse.

Important enough for him to hurt her.

Then her hands rose to his jaw.

Gentle.

Trusting.

“Stop denying yourself what you want." The words struck harder than expected. Because the problem was not that Vergil did not know what he wanted.

The problem was that he did.

Her.

The realization had become impossible to ignore now.

“Because if there’s one thing I’m sure of,” she whispered, “it’s that I want you. All of you. Even the parts you think are too rusted. Too sharp.”

Vergil stared at her silently.

She had no idea what she was asking for.

Or perhaps she did. That possibility frightened him even more. His entire life had been built around the belief that emotion weakened people. That attachment invited suffering.

Yet standing here now, with her looking at him like he was something worth keeping instead of surviving…

He found himself wavering.

The silence stretched between them.

She looked nervous now. Vulnerable in a way that twisted something painfully inside his chest.

And Vergil realized with sudden sharp clarity that if he walked away again, he would regret it.

Truly regret it.

So instead, he kissed her.

Softer this time.

Not hunger. Not desperation.

Something quieter.

Tentative.

The closest thing to a promise he knew how to give. Her body relaxed immediately against him, and the trust in that single motion nearly undid him completely.

Dangerous.

Hell this was dangerous. Because he could already feel himself wanting more.

More kisses.

More honesty.

More moments standing too close beneath dim lights while she looked at him like he was not irreparably broken.

And that path led somewhere terrifyingly unfamiliar. So he stopped, before he lost the ability to.

“Go take some rest,” he said quietly.

The hurt that flashed across her face was immediate.

Vergil felt it like a blade between the ribs.

Not this. Not again.

The thought practically radiated from her expression.

Damn it.

“This is new for me,” he said before she could misunderstand. “I do not allow myself such emotions.”

Weakness. Fragility. Ruin.

The words came automatically, old doctrines burned into him over years of loneliness and obsession.

Yet even as he spoke them, they sounded less convincing than before.

“This is a conversation that deserves time,” he continued carefully. “And clarity.”

Then after a pause, quieter:

“This time, I chose to listen.”

Her expression shifted slightly at that.

Relief.

Warmth.

Something unbearably tender.

Vergil could not endure another second of looking at it.

So instead he pressed a brief kiss against her cheek, controlled enough to keep himself composed, intimate enough to say everything he still struggled to voice aloud.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “Go rest.”

Then he stepped away.

Measured. Controlled. Precise.

Rebuilding composure piece by piece with every step toward the staircase.

But the moment his hand tightened around Yamato’s sheath, he realized the truth with cold certainty.

The blade was grounding him now.

Cause she had broken down all the walls he ever took pride in having.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ- ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ- 38. Reader ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ a/n: Next update in June!! ❥𝖨𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽!!

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