[Vergil draws a breath, and for a moment, it may appear as though he is about to speak. He says nothing though. Her words right now are not things that he takes as an unkindness—not any more than he believes any of the other things she's said or asked have been—but the numbness he clings to in order to maintain his neutrality means they do not reach him in any meaningful way beyond a signal their conversation is at its end. Vergil turns from her completely then, making his way to his bedroom where there is nothing but quiet and stillness.]
[Kyrie doesn't realise until Vergil returns to the quiet calm of his own bedroom just how chaotic her own body feels when she's left alone. She feels utterly sick to her stomach and there's a peculiar ringing in her ears that she just can't shake.
Her knees feel like they're about to buckle beneath her and in her wobbliness she leans against the counter top, trembling and willing herself to just be calm, to breathe and to focus.
It didn't go badly, but she doesn't feel like it went well. And it doesn't feel like it's right.
None of this is right, there's nothing right about the situation and she's fairly certain there's no one around to tell her what 'right' would look like in circumstances like this. At the very least, she's assured that she hasn't taken a metaphorical can of gasoline to the bridge that is her burgeoning relationship with Nero's father and torched it.
Right?
Her eyes grow hot and her vision misty and not wanting to create more of a scene, she bolts back to the safety of her room, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in a pillow and cry.]
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Her knees feel like they're about to buckle beneath her and in her wobbliness she leans against the counter top, trembling and willing herself to just be calm, to breathe and to focus.
It didn't go badly, but she doesn't feel like it went well. And it doesn't feel like it's right.
None of this is right, there's nothing right about the situation and she's fairly certain there's no one around to tell her what 'right' would look like in circumstances like this. At the very least, she's assured that she hasn't taken a metaphorical can of gasoline to the bridge that is her burgeoning relationship with Nero's father and torched it.
Right?
Her eyes grow hot and her vision misty and not wanting to create more of a scene, she bolts back to the safety of her room, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in a pillow and cry.]