Epiphany
Dante had been magnificent in battle, screaming that this was what he lived for, swearing that he was absolutely crazy about it, gracefully deadly in his macabre dance as he slashed his enemies apart to quiet his own pain, to soothe the wound of his broken heart.
However, it was only when he fell to his knees among the corpses of his slain enemies and cried bitterly for his lost brother, his carefree façade crumbling, that she had found him beautiful in his tragedy and sorrow. More than Lady had ever thought possible, he was terribly human, and terribly alone.