There Vergil sat, resting in an armchair in the center of the library, peacefully reading a book. Ah, how tranquil he looked.

Of course, being the nuisance you are, you had to bother him. So, naturally, you walked right up and started poking at his face.

“Will you stop that?” Vergil snarled, clearly not pleased with your constant poking and prodding.

“I already told you I need some time alone. If you must bask in my presence so desperately, at least do so quietly,” he scowled, before returning his focus to his book.

In his hands, Vergil held his book of William Blake poems, reading Proverbs of Hell. Of course, he was reading Blake again. He liked the poet’s work well enough, and it wasn’t exactly a secret—especially since his name was written on the back of the book.