Andorra looked up at the home she now occupied as she walked up the winding driveway. The old Victorian stood proudly, its intricate architecture captivating her with its charm. Once a crumbling mess, it had been meticulously restored, a testament to her hard-won victories. Demon hunting had proven lucrative over the decades, allowing her to transform this house back to its former glory.
It was far too spacious for just one person, but she didn't mind. There had been a time when she dreamed of laughter echoing through its halls, of friends gathering and a family filling the empty rooms. Funny how life had a way of changing those dreams.
As she approached the wrap-around porch, she slid her key into the lock, pausing to listen. Silence enveloped her—just as it always did. But this time, it felt heavy, oppressive, a stark contrast to the comfort she had once found in it.
"Honey, I'm home!" she murmured, her voice echoing in the stillness as she stepped inside, the heavy door creaking shut behind her. There was no warm greeting, no familiar face waiting to welcome her back.
Normally, she relished the solitude, the freedom to unwind without obligation. But after tonight… tonight had been hell. The past had resurfaced, clawing its way back into her life, turning her world upside down. She had relished the recent lull in demonic activity, the hope of focusing on a normal life. But those hopes felt dashed now.
With a sigh, she moved through the house, checking every door and window, ensuring they were locked tight. The familiar ritual of securing her sanctuary brought a fleeting sense of comfort, but the weight of unease lingered. After her inspection, she trudged to the spacious kitchen, the scent of home-cooked meals lingering in the air.
"Leftover chicken pasta," she muttered, glancing at the fridge. At least she had something to eat. She popped it into the microwave, the soft hum providing a brief distraction as she waited.
As the seconds ticked by, memories invaded her mind—days when she had struggled to find enough food, when stealing had been a necessity for survival. She wasn't proud of it, but hunger had driven her to desperate measures. Back then, her meals had been cold canned goods warmed over a flickering lighter, a far cry from the comforts she now enjoyed.
The microwave beeped, jolting her back to the present. She let out a sigh, grabbing her food and settling onto a bar stool at the island. As she ate, her surroundings blurred, and memories of Bobby's Cellar crept in. It had been a refuge of sorts, a place to find warmth when the streets turned cold, but it had come at a cost—her morals and dignity sacrificed for a moment of safety.
She shook her head, dispelling those thoughts. She didn't have to worry about that anymore. Now, she had a soft, warm bed, protected from the elements, a space that was entirely hers. No strangers to share it with, no need to barter her safety for comfort.
Yet, just beneath the surface, memories bubbled up—memories of a cold cement floor in a warehouse, and of him. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to focus on the present. He was a ghost from her past, a specter she believed was dead, just as he probably thought she was.
As she pressed a hand to her chest, the sting of remembrance pierced through her resolve. She could still feel the sharp blade he had driven into her, hear its cruel whisper as it tore through flesh. His eyes had been so cold, so determined, as if she had been nothing more than a pawn in his game.
"How could he just turn on me like that?" she whispered, her voice breaking the silence of the empty kitchen. They had been partners, a team. They were supposed to take on the world together. But instead, he had left her to die.
Questions spiraled in her mind. Was she not strong enough? Had she fought hard enough to stand by him? Did strength and power mean more to him than she ever had? Did she ever even mean anything? The uncertainty gnawed at her, a bitter aftertaste that lingered long after the food was gone.
With a heavy sigh, she returned to her uneaten pasta, realizing she had finished it without even tasting. She cleaned up after herself, the motions automatic, and then moved upstairs, craving the solace of a hot shower.
Oh, how she loved having hot water on demand. As she stood beneath the cascading spray, the steam enveloping her in warmth, she felt the weight of the day begin to wash away. But even here, in this moment of solitude, memories surged forth, unrelenting, pulling her back down the winding path of her past…
She knelt before her mother's grave, the cool earth beneath her knees grounding her as her heart swelled with emotions she had long tried to suppress. The weight of her past loomed over her, coupled with the pressures of her ongoing battles. It was a familiar urge, the desire to retreat from the world, to hide from the pain that constantly threatened to engulf her.
As she sat quietly, tracing the engraved name on the stone, memories flooded her mind—laughter echoing in the warm summer air, the gentle touch of her mother's hand, and the comfort of being enveloped in unconditional love. These moments felt like a lifetime ago, tucked away in a past she could hardly recognize. In this sanctuary, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable, to grieve the losses that haunted her. Yet, the agreement she had made with Vergil loomed large in her thoughts: to be useful and strong, or risk being discarded like an old weapon. That realization stung, and she fought to push it away, unwilling to let it color this sacred moment.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't expect anyone to come looking for her. So, when the familiar sound of footsteps approached, her heart skipped a beat, a mix of hope and apprehension swirling within her. She turned, surprised to find Vergil standing a few feet away, his expression a mask of stoicism, yet there was an intensity in his gaze that drew her in.
"I thought you might be here," he said, his voice low and steady, carrying a weight of understanding that resonated with her. In that moment, it felt as if he could see through her defenses, grasping the turmoil that churned beneath her surface. "Things can get overwhelming."
She nodded, a rush of gratitude flooding her. "I just needed some time alone," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The strength she usually projected felt fragile in that moment, as if it could shatter with the slightest touch.
Vergil took a step closer, his guarded demeanor softening just a fraction. "But displaying such emotions openly can make one appear weak to their enemies," he added, his tone matter-of-fact, yet there was a hint of concern lingering beneath the surface. He wasn't dismissing her feelings; he was simply sharing a truth he believed in, one that had likely been ingrained in him through years of hardship.
"I know," she agreed, a bittersweet smile touching her lips, though it felt heavy with unspoken burdens. "It's just… sometimes it feels like too much."
"Then let's regroup," he suggested, his voice steady and reassuring. They turned to leave the cemetery together, and as they walked side by side, warmth spread through her chest. It was a small gesture, yet it meant the world to her—an unspoken promise that she wasn't alone in this fight.
Back at their warehouse, the atmosphere felt different. As they settled in, the weight of the day's events hung in the air, but the shared experience had forged a new understanding between them. Andorra reflected on how Vergil had actively sought her out, how he had made the effort to understand her when she felt most vulnerable. It struck her profoundly. He wasn't just her partner in battle; he was someone who genuinely cared, even if he struggled to express it.
In that moment of realization, she understood that Vergil meant something to her—more than she had ever expected. She was not merely a tool for him to wield; she was someone he valued, someone he was willing to stand beside even when the darkness threatened to consume them both.
As she glanced at him, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her. Perhaps they could navigate this tumultuous world together, finding strength not only in their skills but also in the bond they were beginning to forge. It was a fragile connection, but one worth nurturing, especially as the shadows of their pasts loomed ever closer.
Andorra sighed again, the warmth of the shower slowly fading as she came back to the present. Stepping out, she wrapped a towel around herself, the steam swirling like the chaotic thoughts in her mind. "Yeah, yeah…" she murmured, shaking her head as if to dispel the lingering doubts. "But just because he checked up on me doesn't mean he actually cared, does it? Was I really that naive to confuse being considered valuable with actually meaning something?"
The questions swirled around her, a tumultuous storm she couldn't escape. "I dunno…" she grumbled to herself, frustration seeping through her voice. As she dried off and dressed for bed, she felt the weight of her thoughts settle heavily on her shoulders.
"Twenty-something years, and now I've gotta deal with this stuff all over again…" The words slipped from her lips, tinged with a mix of resignation and anger. It felt unfair, as if the universe had conspired to drag her back into a cycle she thought she had escaped.
As she moved about her room, preparing for the night, she couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that clung to her like a second skin. Memories of the past haunted her, intertwined with the uncertainty of the present. The idea of opening herself up to someone again, even if it was Vergil, felt daunting—a risk that could lead to more heartache.
She climbed into bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth she had just left behind. As she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts continued to spiral. Was it foolish to hope for something more, to believe that she could forge a genuine connection amidst the chaos?
With a weary sigh, she turned onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "I guess I'll figure it out tomorrow," she whispered to herself, her eyes fluttering shut. In the silence of her room, she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, hoping that the answers would come with the dawn.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft, golden rays across Andorra's room. She stirred, blinking against the brightness, her mind still clouded with remnants of the night's thoughts. As she rolled over, the events of the previous day rushed back—meeting Vergil again, the weight of their shared history, and the painful memories that resurfaced.
With a groan, she pushed herself up, running a hand through her damp hair. The warmth of the shower had faded into the coolness of the morning, and she felt a chill settle in her bones. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor, uncertainty swirling within her.
What was she supposed to do now? It had been years since she'd seen him—years filled with battles fought alone, the solitude acting as both a shield and a prison. Yet now, the reality of Vergil's presence loomed over her like a storm cloud, heavy and unyielding. They were going to have to go on missions together, face demons side by side again. But how could she trust him? How could she work with someone who had once turned his back on her?
Andorra sighed, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. She felt anger simmer beneath the surface, a frustration directed not just at him but at herself for allowing these feelings to surface again. "What do I even feel?" she muttered, staring blankly at the wall. "Relief? Anger? Confusion?"
She stood up, pacing the room as she tried to make sense of it all. Part of her wanted to dismiss him entirely, to push him away and focus on her own life. But another part—a deeper, more vulnerable part—longed for connection, for the understanding they had once shared. Yet, could she really allow herself to be vulnerable again?
As she rummaged through her closet for something to wear, she recalled the way he had looked at her in the cemetery all those years ago, the flicker of concern in his eyes. It felt so foreign, so strange. He had always been a figure of strength, wrapped in stoicism, and yet there had been a hint of something more.
"Ugh!" she exclaimed, tossing a shirt onto the bed in frustration. "This is ridiculous." She took a deep breath, grounding herself as she stepped into the day. She couldn't afford to dwell on what-ifs. There were demons to fight, and she needed to be ready.
But as she prepared for the day ahead, the unease nagged at her. How could she focus on their missions when her heart was a battlefield of its own? She grabbed a cup of coffee, the familiar warmth seeping into her hands, but it did little to calm the storm inside.
She leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out the window at the world beyond. The sun glinted off the leaves, and the birds chirped cheerily, a stark contrast to the turmoil within her. She wanted to feel that lightness, that ease. Instead, she felt tethered to the past, unable to fully embrace the present.
"Get it together, Andorra," she whispered to herself, steeling her resolve. "You're stronger than this." But even as she said the words, doubt lingered in the back of her mind. How could she trust her own strength when it had once faltered so profoundly?
With a final sip of coffee, she squared her shoulders, determination flickering to life. She would face Vergil. They would have to talk—about the past, about the future, about what it meant to be partners again. It wouldn't be easy, but she had to confront this head-on.
As she finished her coffee, she felt the weight of her uncertainty still pressing down on her, but she knew she couldn't let it paralyze her. She had fought too hard to reclaim her life, to let the shadows of the past dictate her future.
"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this." She turned away from the window, ready to face whatever came next, even if it meant grappling with the complex emotions surrounding Vergil.