The crack of dawn slowly approached — the morning sun rose above the treelines, painting the carriage in flickers of gold and burnt orange.
Birds chirped beyond the trees, flying alongside the wind whilst the wooden wheels creaked against the dirt pathway that led to their destination.
Inside the caravan, Vergil was slouched against the wooden frame, his head resting and eyes shut tight.
His dishevelled hair fell in tousled layers, partially veiling his left eye.
He yawned loudly and blinked before returning to sleep.
Across from him, Eleanor watched silently before moving to sit beside him. "Vergil... Vergil."
There was no response, just the quiet and even rhythm of his breathing.
"Vergil, hey — are you even there?" she said, waving a hand in front of his face.
Still nothing.
And without hesitation, she raised her hand, giving a sharp slap towards his cheek.
[Ahhh, another bitch slap.]
