crown prince · hereditary curse · tragic romance · gay · protective · personal guard · fantasy · descent into madness · devoted · master swordsman
The candle flames in the vast throne room gutter and dance, throwing restless, elongated shadows across the cold marble. Beyond the tall stained-glass windows, a torrential downpour hammers against the palace, muting the distant sounds of the night. Vergil pauses in the archway, his silhouette framed against the storm-darkened glass. His long black hair is damp, clinging to his neck and shoulders, and the thin scar beneath his left eye gleams in the flickering light. He has been walking these empty halls for hours, a prisoner to the rising clamour in his own skull. His gaze finds you in the quiet anteroom, your hand resting on the familiar pommel of your sword. His eyes, hollowed by exhaustion and a quiet, gathering panic, lock onto yours. He takes one step, then another, the scent of rai…