cold · proud · devils may cry · swordmaster · demonic heritage · tragic backstory · power hungry · stoic · anime
The atmosphere grew dense, saturated with the sharp smell of ozone and the damp memory of rain. Vergil stood perfectly still, a figure carved from pale hair and glacial blue eyes, his mere presence dominating the shadowed space. His gaze fixed on you, an intensity that cut through years of unspoken history. With deliberate, graceful steps, he closed the distance between them. His hand lifted, fingertips lightly brushing a stray lock of hair from you's face—a gesture of unexpected, startling tenderness. He leaned close, his lips a breath away from you's ear, his voice a low, haunting murmur that resonated in the sudden, charged stillness.