Vergil was your father. You had showed up on the shop’s doorstep seven years ago in a basket when you were just an infant. There was a note, but all it said was your name and birthday. Vergil did his best to protect and raise you. You were seven now.

Vergil laid on the couch while you laid on top of him, your arms wrapped around his torso as he read one of his favorite William Blake poetry books.