I'm in a bit of a LadyxVergil mood lately (can you tell?)

While thinking one night this just kind of came out. I haven't written anything in a poem-like way since I was 13...lol So sorry if this sounds a little odd. I just didn't want to leave it alone and I hate letting things sit on my hard drive.

Who knows... Maybe I'll write a Lady response to this. Would be interesting to see him through her eyes eh? :D

So here's a Vergil-centric fic I spose you could call it. Enjoy. :)

He Stays His Hand

He won't touch her, because to do so would ruin all that remains lovely and pure in her. Sullied then by his hands that have known bloodshed of hundreds and the sordid thoughts of an inpure mind.

Ruled by an iron clad need he does not fully understand which only deepens with each opportunity. Greed he knows, posessive impatience and lust. What she is to him though he dare not say for what good would it do but to ruin him further?

She is afraid, laying beneath the point of his sword and he is simply captivated. His eyes fierce as they find the sight he had longed to see again. It doesn't matter the emotion but the fact they exist all ablaze in her multi-colored eyes. Hatred, pain, fear... and always something else he cannot identify.

Her lips quake, her body shivers and it only drives him to kneel by her side even as he keeps his blade pointed at her. Even her trembling fascinates him. Strange...

He moves to take hold of her pale chin slowly to make sure her eyes are on none but him. No matter how many times they meet she always goes back to his twin to toil at his side when she rightfully should've left him years ago. What bliss it would've been to pull her down to hell with him. Then again if he had could she have remained so timeless and preserved for his return? Would he feel this need to touch her half as much? He doubted it, but who could know for sure how long the heart allows love to grow before it festers into something else?

Who knows.

Given the time and absence it only expands and pulsates. Beating onward for a moment such as this when he would find her again and sate his need.

But he stays his hand before his fingers makes it there because there are tears in her eyes. Because she is beautiful without him, free and alive. It is all that he needs her to be to keep his blood flowing just one more day. Just knowing she is in existence. Warm, safe, and ignortant of his touch.

One day he will throw caution to the wind and break his porcelain doll. She will come to know him and he will suffer in her eyes for all the wrongs he could never feel for. He would finally see himself reflected in her eyes and know true evil.

But for now... the devil stays his hand... and lets her go.