It's a question that takes Vergil a little off-guard, resulting in him opening and closing his mouth without saying anything at all at first. It's not that he doesn't necessarily know why he likes his books and his poetry. For as little insight as he's proven himself to have when it comes to certain aspects of his internal world, he knows why he likes what he reads specifically and just the act of reading alone. But no one has ever asked him the question before both given that he had given it up as a hobby at such a young age and because he isolated himself for so long. So, he's never anticipated anyone would ask never mind actually had to articulate the answer before.
"When I was a child, I liked it because it was something I didn't have to share with Dante. We're twins, so we were expected to share most everything together."
Albeit, Vergil always felt more pressure around sharing with Dante than the other way around. Dante was always so happy to let Vergil have anything, and he could never particularly understand why Vergil rarely reciprocated. Even when it was things he wasn't all that interested in like Vergil's books, he couldn't understand why Vergil didn't want to let him have them and why he'd get so angry with Dante every time he'd hide one of Vergil's books on him.
"I used to mark the things I didn't want Dante touching with a 'V'," he says, drawing the letter in the air with a finger. "Although in hindsight it was a foolish choice. It just told him which things of mine he needed to try and steal from me in order to get my attention if I kept refusing to play with him.
"Anyway, he was never much for reading. He thought it was boring, and couldn't understand why I'd rather read than play and train with him. So, the books and poems were something for me."
But it certainly grew to be more than just avoiding his brother's insistence to fight with their wooden swords, or establishing something for himself as time went on. And it wasn't even about that sense of escapism either. It was actually more about seeking a connection more than anything. Vergil found an emotional world in his reading. One that he's known so very little about in his daily life as even as a child, he found himself struggling to articulate all that he felt and saw. It's why he fell in love with Blake's poems, works that dealt with both the beautiful and uglier sides of nature and life. Vergil briefly mulls over how much of that to share, how much of it is even relevant or something Mizu would even care to know even if he did ask the question what it was about books and poetry that drew Vergil's interest before he answers.
He looks back over towards the balcony.
"I have never been...particularly skilled when it comes to connecting with others. Even as a child, I would watch Dante befriend almost anyone and I could never understand it. How he drew people in and spoke to them so easily as if they had been friends the entirety of their lives.
"But I found that connection for myself in poetry. Blake, in particular."
And then his mother was killed, and he presumed his brother was dead, and that the same fate was about to befall him as well. And the devil awakened within him, and he survived, but he swore off such connection, such emotion. It was weakness to be so human, so connected that he would grieve anyone ever again, that he would ever allow himself to be reliant upon those connections for his own protection and well-being. The colder he was able to be, the stronger he was, he thought. And so he spent years on his own, refusing help, refusing to hide who and what he was. He fought viciously for his survival, and he remained so single-minded in his pursuit of power that he let all else fall by the wayside.
"I wanted more of it, so I read as much as I could."
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"When I was a child, I liked it because it was something I didn't have to share with Dante. We're twins, so we were expected to share most everything together."
Albeit, Vergil always felt more pressure around sharing with Dante than the other way around. Dante was always so happy to let Vergil have anything, and he could never particularly understand why Vergil rarely reciprocated. Even when it was things he wasn't all that interested in like Vergil's books, he couldn't understand why Vergil didn't want to let him have them and why he'd get so angry with Dante every time he'd hide one of Vergil's books on him.
"I used to mark the things I didn't want Dante touching with a 'V'," he says, drawing the letter in the air with a finger. "Although in hindsight it was a foolish choice. It just told him which things of mine he needed to try and steal from me in order to get my attention if I kept refusing to play with him.
"Anyway, he was never much for reading. He thought it was boring, and couldn't understand why I'd rather read than play and train with him. So, the books and poems were something for me."
But it certainly grew to be more than just avoiding his brother's insistence to fight with their wooden swords, or establishing something for himself as time went on. And it wasn't even about that sense of escapism either. It was actually more about seeking a connection more than anything. Vergil found an emotional world in his reading. One that he's known so very little about in his daily life as even as a child, he found himself struggling to articulate all that he felt and saw. It's why he fell in love with Blake's poems, works that dealt with both the beautiful and uglier sides of nature and life. Vergil briefly mulls over how much of that to share, how much of it is even relevant or something Mizu would even care to know even if he did ask the question what it was about books and poetry that drew Vergil's interest before he answers.
He looks back over towards the balcony.
"I have never been...particularly skilled when it comes to connecting with others. Even as a child, I would watch Dante befriend almost anyone and I could never understand it. How he drew people in and spoke to them so easily as if they had been friends the entirety of their lives.
"But I found that connection for myself in poetry. Blake, in particular."
And then his mother was killed, and he presumed his brother was dead, and that the same fate was about to befall him as well. And the devil awakened within him, and he survived, but he swore off such connection, such emotion. It was weakness to be so human, so connected that he would grieve anyone ever again, that he would ever allow himself to be reliant upon those connections for his own protection and well-being. The colder he was able to be, the stronger he was, he thought. And so he spent years on his own, refusing help, refusing to hide who and what he was. He fought viciously for his survival, and he remained so single-minded in his pursuit of power that he let all else fall by the wayside.
"I wanted more of it, so I read as much as I could."