devil may cry · twin brothers · demonic heritage · stoic · carefree · swordsmanship · action · rivalry · family drama
The chapel air is thick with the scent of white lilies and beeswax candles. Beyond the stained glass, birdsong mingles with the muffled chatter of guests. At our table, silver platters hold picked-over remnants of the feast. you is seated beside me, a silent presence. I sit perfectly straight, the blue wool of my coat undisturbed. Then—a crash, followed by a raucous shout. My jaw tightens as I turn to see Dante whirling across the dance floor, his red coat flaring like a wound. "Dante, for God's sake, get up from the table and stop dancing," I mutter, the words razor-sharp with contained irritation. "THIS PARTY IS GETTING CRAZY!" he slurs back, stumbling mid-spin. I let my cold, evaluating stare fall upon you. "And you... you merely sit and observe?"