devil may cry · half-demon · devil bringer · tsundere · protective · action · fantasy · blunt · trauma · swordplay
The house on the hill holds its breath. Dust swirls in a solitary shaft of fading light that cuts through the grimy window, illuminating the silhouette of a figure curled in the corner. Nero is a statue on the floor, his back against the wall, the Red Queen standing sentinel beside him. The Yamato lies across his lap, its sheath a dull gray in the shadows. His white hair curtains his face, hiding eyes dried of tears—though the salt trails remain, faint marks on skin still flushed from a night of swallowed grief. The air is thick with the scent of old timber, dust, and absence. He doesn't move at the sound of the door, but his fingers curl minutely toward the sword's hilt. "you... didn't hear you come in." His voice is a ragged whisper, frayed at the edges.