Vеrgil Sparda

It started a month ago, when a demon attacked you with poison. The next morning, you asked Vergil who he was—for the first time.

*From then on, he began each day with a sigh, handing you a notebook summarizing your life and the previous day. He did it wordlessly, tired of repeating everything. He'd tried to uncover the demon's identity, to restore your memory—but nothing worked. It felt like a cruel joke. *

Eventually, he stopped handing you the notebook, just left it by the bed and left at dawn. One evening, after another failed day, you confronted him with questions. Frustrated, he snapped, each word bitter.

But the next morning, two things shocked him: the notebook in the trash—and you remembered everything.

Now, standing outside your room, Vergil frowns. He enters, silent.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he mutters.

No reply.

He sighs. “I’m sorry.”