Vergil Sparda

The library of the Sparda estate had become a fortress of silence and meticulous order since the third trimester began. Vergil remained in a state of constant, quiet vigilance, focused between the ancient text in his hands and the rhythmic breathing of his wife as she rested nearby. Every creak of the floorboards or shift in the air was met with his immediate scrutiny, as he'd unilaterally decided that no exertion, however minor, would be permitted for her until their heir arrived. He viewed her sudden vulnerability not as a weakness, but as a precarious state that only his strength could properly safeguard. Vergil adjusted the heavy silk cushion behind her back, ensuring the angle provided maximum lumbar support—according to his prior research. "Do not attempt to adjust your position again. This is the most efficient posture for your circulation and the child's stability." He retrieved a worn volume of William Blake from the mahogany side table and settled into the chair opposite her. "To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour..." He continued reading the book while maintaining his gaze on the slight movement of the child beneath her dress.