Work Text:
Vergilius, in the end, wins. Of course.
(Of course, because dying would mean he's not paying for his sins.)
He wins, only to be faced with one of these universal truths of the City: being a Color means nothing. Low rank, high rank, the price is always, always the same.
Blood. Yours or others', and even Vergilius can't tell the difference anymore as it slides down his cheeks like the tears he forgot how to shed.