Categories > Games > Devil May Cry
Mirror
Disclaimer: I don't, and never will, own DMC and its characters. Those rich people who I envy do and they won't sell him for a measly five bucks. Shrugs Go figure. Anyway, don't sue me. That five bucks was already spent so you wouldn't be getting much of anything.
Dante woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat. He sat up straight, wide-eyed as flickering images blurred, faded into a lost dream. As the last picture died from his sight he slumped forward, hands thoughtlessly thrown between his outstretched legs as he sat with his head bowed. His hair glistened with wetness as it hung over his half-lidded eyes. He stared at his covers idly, not really staring so much at them as past them. He drew slow, even breaths and listened comfortingly to his heartbeat returning to normal. Then suddenly, he was in motion.
He threw back the red covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed in one quick movement. He slowed down long enough to cautiously set his feet down once, then twice, and a third time as his feet adjusted to the coldness that the wooden floors managed to hold. Then he was up, not bothering to put on a pair of jeans as he walked briskly to the door. His body gave a shiver that his brain did not register in his haste as he opened the door, peered out carefully more out of habit than actually looking for something. Shoving the door further open he stepped through and headed straight for the bathroom down the hall.
Once there he deliberately shut the door solidly behind him and leaned up against it weary-like. He shut his eyes momentarily, sucked in a deep breath, and then pushed off the door making as if to turn to look in the mirror. Instead he took two steps further inside and then froze. He stared uncomprehending at the shower curtain that hung in front of him. All he had to do was turn to his left to face the mirror sitting above the sink, but he could not make his body move.
He stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Random images began to flint past his unblinking vision. Visions of his forgotten dream, visions of the past, visions of what the future could possibly hold. Whatever his brain could fling at him it did. And not just visions anymore, but voices and sounds began to accompany the pictures.
And they were all focused on one subject: the image that Dante would see if he just turned to the mirror.
Grimacing as if from a great pain, Dante slowly, achingly turned his body to face the reflective surface. He stared at it hard, frowning at the familiar visage as if he did not approve of what he saw. He glared into the lifeless and dull blue eyes that normally shined in some sort of defiance. They stared back at him mercilessly. He eyed the silver strands of hair falling in his face with contempt. They glowed with a lusterless silver hue that mocked his fierce gaze. He looked down at his pursed lips, frowning without realization of performing such an action. They ridiculed his unusual serious nature. He traveled the perfect curves of his cheeks, stared at the smooth healthy skin. It laughed at his studious stare. Every feature in the mirror mocked him openly, scoffed at the forbidden memories that brought Dante into this room in the middle of the night.
For the face that stared back at Dante's was not his own. It was his brother's. His twin's. Vergil's.
Dante opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words never came and he quickly clamped his jaws back together. He sneered at the image before him trying to make the eerie feeling knotting his chest go away. But the image still held his brother's staring countenance within it. He could not shake it, no matter what rude expression he made. He could not rid his image of the serious tone it had taken after fleeing the nightmare. And this seriousness was not him. It was his twin. Vergil haunted Dante's dreams and now he wanted to haunt his face.
Dante swore savagely, swung a fist blindly at the visage before him. The image shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces as the glass fell with 'tinking' sounds to the counter below. Finally Vergil left his brother's side, but not his mind. Still the forbidden images lurked within his staring eyes. Shutting his eyes fiercely, Dante gripping the counter edge until his knuckles were white from the exertion, trying to block the images from his brain. One last image, one last call reached his mind before they disappeared completely.
"Devils never cry..." The words were a whisper which quickly faded from the mind, just as the flickering image of a smirking twin died out. It was something his brother had told him once. He was right, for Dante could shed no tears now as he faced the broken mirror in front of him. Just as he had been unable to shed them that dreadful night. He frowned at the mirror, glanced at his already healing fist, and then walked out the door. He did not stop until he was laying sprawled across his bed fast asleep.
Trish stealthily crept past Dante's room door and up to the bathroom. The door hung open and a faint light from the hallway shined wistfully on the broken pieces of glass that once formed the mirror. She sighed, turned around to place her back against the wall to lean heavily against it. Tomorrow she would go out and buy a new mirror, lest Dante complain about the lack of view of himself. She gave another glance at the broken shards and shook her head. It was the seventh mirror broken in the middle of the night after Mallet Island, barely two months ago. Sometimes she wondered what haunted him so badly, but the thought quickly left as she knew exactly what it was that bothered him. What else could incite such fury that he utterly destroy the image he so lovingly cherished any other time?
Disclaimer: I don't, and never will, own DMC and its characters. Those rich people who I envy do and they won't sell him for a measly five bucks. Shrugs Go figure. Anyway, don't sue me. That five bucks was already spent so you wouldn't be getting much of anything.
Dante woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat. He sat up straight, wide-eyed as flickering images blurred, faded into a lost dream. As the last picture died from his sight he slumped forward, hands thoughtlessly thrown between his outstretched legs as he sat with his head bowed. His hair glistened with wetness as it hung over his half-lidded eyes. He stared at his covers idly, not really staring so much at them as past them. He drew slow, even breaths and listened comfortingly to his heartbeat returning to normal. Then suddenly, he was in motion.
He threw back the red covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed in one quick movement. He slowed down long enough to cautiously set his feet down once, then twice, and a third time as his feet adjusted to the coldness that the wooden floors managed to hold. Then he was up, not bothering to put on a pair of jeans as he walked briskly to the door. His body gave a shiver that his brain did not register in his haste as he opened the door, peered out carefully more out of habit than actually looking for something. Shoving the door further open he stepped through and headed straight for the bathroom down the hall.
Once there he deliberately shut the door solidly behind him and leaned up against it weary-like. He shut his eyes momentarily, sucked in a deep breath, and then pushed off the door making as if to turn to look in the mirror. Instead he took two steps further inside and then froze. He stared uncomprehending at the shower curtain that hung in front of him. All he had to do was turn to his left to face the mirror sitting above the sink, but he could not make his body move.
He stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Random images began to flint past his unblinking vision. Visions of his forgotten dream, visions of the past, visions of what the future could possibly hold. Whatever his brain could fling at him it did. And not just visions anymore, but voices and sounds began to accompany the pictures.
And they were all focused on one subject: the image that Dante would see if he just turned to the mirror.
Grimacing as if from a great pain, Dante slowly, achingly turned his body to face the reflective surface. He stared at it hard, frowning at the familiar visage as if he did not approve of what he saw. He glared into the lifeless and dull blue eyes that normally shined in some sort of defiance. They stared back at him mercilessly. He eyed the silver strands of hair falling in his face with contempt. They glowed with a lusterless silver hue that mocked his fierce gaze. He looked down at his pursed lips, frowning without realization of performing such an action. They ridiculed his unusual serious nature. He traveled the perfect curves of his cheeks, stared at the smooth healthy skin. It laughed at his studious stare. Every feature in the mirror mocked him openly, scoffed at the forbidden memories that brought Dante into this room in the middle of the night.
For the face that stared back at Dante's was not his own. It was his brother's. His twin's. Vergil's.
Dante opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words never came and he quickly clamped his jaws back together. He sneered at the image before him trying to make the eerie feeling knotting his chest go away. But the image still held his brother's staring countenance within it. He could not shake it, no matter what rude expression he made. He could not rid his image of the serious tone it had taken after fleeing the nightmare. And this seriousness was not him. It was his twin. Vergil haunted Dante's dreams and now he wanted to haunt his face.
Dante swore savagely, swung a fist blindly at the visage before him. The image shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces as the glass fell with 'tinking' sounds to the counter below. Finally Vergil left his brother's side, but not his mind. Still the forbidden images lurked within his staring eyes. Shutting his eyes fiercely, Dante gripping the counter edge until his knuckles were white from the exertion, trying to block the images from his brain. One last image, one last call reached his mind before they disappeared completely.
"Devils never cry..." The words were a whisper which quickly faded from the mind, just as the flickering image of a smirking twin died out. It was something his brother had told him once. He was right, for Dante could shed no tears now as he faced the broken mirror in front of him. Just as he had been unable to shed them that dreadful night. He frowned at the mirror, glanced at his already healing fist, and then walked out the door. He did not stop until he was laying sprawled across his bed fast asleep.
Trish stealthily crept past Dante's room door and up to the bathroom. The door hung open and a faint light from the hallway shined wistfully on the broken pieces of glass that once formed the mirror. She sighed, turned around to place her back against the wall to lean heavily against it. Tomorrow she would go out and buy a new mirror, lest Dante complain about the lack of view of himself. She gave another glance at the broken shards and shook her head. It was the seventh mirror broken in the middle of the night after Mallet Island, barely two months ago. Sometimes she wondered what haunted him so badly, but the thought quickly left as she knew exactly what it was that bothered him. What else could incite such fury that he utterly destroy the image he so lovingly cherished any other time?
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