#red's diary

*Red’s eyes open slowly, and they sting as if they had not been in use for a long while; and perhaps because they hadn’t. steadily, her senses start coming back to her, the first being her ability to feel, or the explicit lack of feeling in all of her limbs. It is like she has been paralyzed, a terrifying numbness taking hold of all her nerve endings. She gasps, but only a desperate and painful rasp is produced, barely above a whisper. 

there is however a sharp pain at the back of her head, throbbing in tandem with the pounding of her increasingly horrified heart. at least she knew it was still beating. The air was tinged with an acrid stale smell that was unmistakable, one she had grown accustomed to when those beasts hunted her down and tried their damnest to rip her spine free from her head.She was in hell, not sure which one, but definitely there. Finally, some light returned to her foggy pupils and she was able to see where she was. She really wished she hadn’t. It was some sort of dungeon, her body held immobile by veiny undergrowth, biological and terrifyingly eldrich. Someone had gotten a hold of her, someone very powerful and clearly very pissed off.

how long had she been here exactly? she couldn’t really recall. It could have been days, weeks, YEARS for all she knew, and suddenly she felt an overcoming sense of despair.

all her friends, her family, the people her very heart and soul belonged to, she would never see them again. They had been ripped away from her, and if she was able to cry she was sure the tears would never stop.she was so exhausted, she just wanted it to end.

“Vergil…”

Lucia, I noticed you have a GIGANTIC fire pit out on the beach...

Let’s say we put it to good use and invite all our friends for a little party ehhh? 

and bring loads of that Jungle Juice, Tweet has been chirping all day and I am not going to lie, it has given me an intense migraine...I need to numb the pain with the only medicine that matters;) 

I haven’t posted an honest to Sparda diary entry before, perhaps because the mood has never struck me quite like it does today.

Father’s day. 

This day and I have had a very turbulent relationship, long before a certain white-haired Devil showed up in my city and turned my life upside down. 

Everything I know about my father comes from whispered conversations when people thought I wasn’t listening, tight-lipped proclamations from my mother when she was still alive, and from whatever little info the Order kept on his file. Apparently, I have the same penchant for speaking my mind as he did, also his witty sense of humour and big caring heart, but I could never be sure. People always tend to speak highly of the dead. 

Oh, my father isn’t actually dead, he is just dead to me, as far as I am concerned. He could be out there somewhere, being all of those things that people say he is, but what does it matter when he was never here to be them for me? 

Or my mother. 

And yet she loved him till the very last second when she died for both of them. 

My father was a photograph sitting on the mantle of our tiny fireplace. I have his eyes, the same bright green shade, but I know I will never have his outlook if I have anything to say about it. I may have left my child behind, but that was for his own safety and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Self-preservation was more important in his case, however, and so he left us in a city hunting for the traitours priestess and her rogue lover as he vanished into the night.

 I was never supposed to exist, you see. I was the product of passion and star-crossed dewy-eyed desires that should never have come to fruition. For a long time, I blamed myself for my mother and my extended family, the people who took us in’s, deaths. How could I not?

That all changed when I met you, @journalofvergilsparda

You made me see my worth, made me feel needed, not like some mistake that possessed no purpose. 

Men have been cruel to me my whole life, I was their object or their scapegoat, but never to you. You looked at me sometimes like I was your whole world, and I could never really understand why, but you never stopped doing it. 

You are the father of my child, and though the parallels between the above tale and our own is not lost on me, there is one big difference. You left to sacrifice yourself, not me, and that was just about the bravest thing you could have done. Not only for me but for the child you never even knew. 

Happy Father’s day, dearest. 

I hope the rest of our lives will be spent peacefully enjoying the family we found again, and living up to the titles bestowed upon us. 

I do not WANT to seem high and mighty... I do not WANT to come across as this judgemental bitch who thinks she knows everything because that could not be further from the truth...

I guess...I just have never had people I would do anything for before, well besides Vergil. 

Never really had friends...sisters. 

*hic*

I MAY have already drained half of uh....all of it. Whoops. 

Now if you excuse me, I will be dancing to Billy Idol’s ‘Hot in the City’  in my underwear...until I pass out.

This is a question I have been asking myself for several days now.

what can I, a mother who could not raise her own child possibly offer anyone here? They...tolerate me at best, and though some have been nice enough, I still feel like this is all some temporary lie. That it will be stolen out from under me like a dumb magician's trick. I do not deserve it. And how can I possibly think otherwise, when I have failed everyone I--

...

I just want to know...why does it still hurt?

It has been so many years,  decades even, where he has been gone, and yet, the wounds feel as fresh as the day he left. I can barely look him in his eyes, those beautiful eyes, without breaking every single time. 

He doesn’t want me here. I only cause him pain. My son, on the other hand, is trying so hard to accept me, accept this monster of a woman who could not love and protect him right--

I don’t deserve it. I keep pretending that I do, but I shouldn’t anymore.