[ Would it surprise Vergilius to know that there was a time when smiles reached his eyes, or that there was hope that lurked in that black pit of his heart? That his secret truth, this crime he whispered to him is exactly the one that broke him into all of those little pieces, and that he'd come back wrong, like a broken ghost with a mismatched eye and all jagged edges and sharp corners. A black heart with only drive, cause, and revenge left — at least until a little girl hugged him in the rain, broken in the same way, all those little pieces he could put back together just so.

Silco was not one to share the truth of it. Few knew of what happened to him, even fewer knew the weight of it, and what it truly meant. Even Vergilius — being gifted with a rare prize from Silco, honesty — perhaps had not been given the true scope of it.

But he'd been given enough. Enough that the question causes his fingers to twitch against whatever scar he'd started to pick at, a flash of something in his eyes that was...

Sharp, violent... something else too. The smile stayed, even the flash of an expression was only there momentarily. Brief, violent, before it melds back underneath the veneer. ]

I'm afraid you're rather stuck with me now. [ There's an edge there, even though his expression still looks like the cat that got the cream.

It's also the cat that can see the bird trying to escape his trap. ] After all, understanding was what you were interested in, and that comes with shared... secrets, doesn't it? [ His fingers relax against a scarred hand, and drag across the length of a scar instead. ] I know that I wouldn't want to let someone who knew certain... truths just left... out in the world, with that knowledge and no connection anymore.

[ His eyes seemed to focus on him, sharp. ] Would you?