#verlady

In that time she had hardly spoken to him. Maybe, she admitted to herself, she was avoiding him. They had a history, the two of them. A history that not even Dante knew about. Unless, of course, Vergil had told him the details while they were in hell. Two teenagers with a rocky alliance, if only for but a few hours. Bound by false promises, pretty lies, and—in the end—one common goal. Lady had wondered for the past five months if Vergil remembered her at all.

This morning he and Dante had argued, swords raised, silver brows drawn together in familiar glares. When Lady had walked in it was as if she had stepped back in time, and was once again standing in the circular room in Temen-Ni-Gru. She had been positive that the brothers would dive towards each other with no regard for furniture or innocents that might get in the way. But instead, Vergil had let out a low growl, and spun away, slicing through reality and vanishing through the Yamato’s portal before either Lady or Dante could get one word in.

“Where did he go?” Lady had demanded as Dante flopped down into his desk. The younger of the twins rolled his eyes.

“To the house,” was all he had said. It was enough.

And now she was here, facing the crumbling building draped in mist. Remnants of the Qliphoth roots jutted out from the ground, crumbling white shells, reminders of those lost and the hell Urizen had wrought upon Red Grave. She couldn’t see Vergil where she stood. If he really was here, she’d have to venture deeper into the mist to find him.

The house—Dante and Vergil’s childhood home—was only vaguely familiar to Lady. She had been there once or twice with Dante, who would stop by on special occasions. “To remember.” He had often said. Maybe Dante was sentimental that way. Lady couldn’t picture Vergil being the same way, but perhaps he was more like his brother than she originally thought.

Lady moved towards the house. It was old, wallpaper peeling from rain and age, windows shattered, black scars from fire marred her crumbling walls. Lady made her way past the fireplace with the soggy, old painting, down a hall with a cracked ceiling and into a dining room that was exposed to what was once the manor’s grounds. Even the Qliphoth-bones-infested ground was shrouded in the mist, and it was beginning to rain. She let out a deep sigh, feeling the droplets on her skin and in her hair, Vergil must have wandered outside. But there was an inkling of fear within her as she thought about stepping out onto the manor’s grounds. Just as she had gained enough courage to do so, a hand reached out from the shadows behind her and grasped her wrist.

“I wouldn’t,” the familiar voice of Vergil, son of Sparda, hissed in her ear. “There are still demons out there.” Lady ripped her hand away from him, spinning around to face him.

“Vergil!”

“What are you doing here, woman?” Vergil narrowed his eyes, “How did you find this place?”

“Dante has brought me here before,” Lady snapped, “And would it kill you to call me by my name?!”

Vergil paused, as if actually considering her request, and Lady saw something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in over 20 years. His voice softened, “What are you doing here, Mary?”

Lady froze, staring up into his blue eyes as the rain fell harder around them, soaking through her hair and his coat. “So you do remember,” she huffed, turning up her nose at the half-demon in front of her and crossing her arms, “When you came back it seemed like you hardly knew me.”

“My memories are cracked… broken… I’m piecing them together again,” Vergil replied, “But I have not forgotten that day.”

The way he said it made Lady flush.

“What are you doing here?” Vergil repeated for the third time, “I will not ask again.” Lady traced her eyes down to where he was gripping the hilt of the Yamato tightly. His ice blue eyes dared her to disobey. She was sure she would end up impaled if she didn’t comply.

“Well, if you must know,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “I was worried about you.”

Vergil seemed shaken. His eyes widened for just a brief moment, only enough time for Lady to notice, before he frowned. “Lies.”

“Why in the world would I lie about something like that,” Lady rolled her eyes. “But whatever, it seems like you’re fine now, so I’ll just go.”

She turned to leave, deciding that she’d need a nice hot shower as quickly as possible to combat the cold rain that was now soaking through her clothes.

“Wait,” Vergil’s voice echoed through the broken house, his hair was soaked, falling into his eyes as he reached out to grab Lady’s wrist. Lady spun around and found herself so close to Vergil that their noses were almost brushing. Rain was clinging to his bangs and to his pale eyelashes, and his cheeks dusted pink when he realized how close they were, but his brows drew together in a determined frown.

“What?” Lady frowned, and she was stunned at her own ability to keep her voice from wavering. It had been so long since they’d been this close, and just seeing his eyes like this made her heart race.

He released her wrist but didn't step back. He seemed just as bewildered as she, unsure of why he had stopped her. Maybe, subconsciously, he didn't want to be alone after all. The house… the memories… Lady had never heard Vergil's side of the story, and she suspected not everything from Dante, but she knew enough.

“I can stay, if you'd like,” she said, her voice soft.

Vergil's blue eyes traced over her, hesitant. And then he nodded once. “Perhaps you can help me fill in the missing pieces of memory,” he mused. He wandered back towards the main entrance of the crumbling house, brushing back his hair with his hand and then he paused, barely glancing back over his shoulder. “If that suits you.” It was almost a question.