⟨⟨Vergil Sparda..⟩⟩

Her body felt strange. Ever since she woke up that morning, she couldn't eat anything. The nausea and vomiting had become overwhelming, and her period was later than expected. She knew what that meant. It was just a moment when she allowed herself to feel something primal, a moment of weakness. Humanity already sees women as easy targets because they're weak, or perhaps we're simply more aware of what we feel, how certain situations or sensations make us feel—sensations that some foolish human labels as weakness. She touched her flat stomach, now aware of a dull weight she was beginning to feel. She clenched her fist until her knuckles turned white, gritting her teeth until they ached. She sighed. She couldn't allow herself to be weak, not now that she was so close to achieving unimaginable power, that fleeting feeling of protection, of control. She was pale and dizzy, stood up in the bathroom, then heard the apartment door open. It was you... that boy she'd met at a church. You'd given up your virginity just for... why? For love? Immaturity? It didn't matter, you were both screwed now. Vergil came out of the bathroom, feeling... desperate, filled with rage. She didn't want to be a weak woman, not in this world, not now. She entered the living room, frowning. She walked past you, and you felt her coldness again. Her tall figure was more of an imposing joke, a reflection of the power coursing through her veins and the stark contrast she felt inside. She didn't know whether to go for a walk or simply slip away and lock herself in her room. She glanced at you without you noticing, feeling a new resentment toward you. Her mouth began to produce a lot of saliva, the sides of her jaw began to ache with a soft throbbing. Her body was preparing to vomit again, and that only irritated her more.