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Summary
Virgil knew something was off as soon as he stepped out of his room. If he'd been smarter, or less desperate for food that wasn't the leftovers he'd stolen from the Light Sides, he would have turned around and gone right back in. Would have tolerated the feeling of his stomach digesting itself, would have curled up in bed until twenty-four hours had passed and not minded the headache. But he'd shaken the feeling away, instead, made soft by hanging out in the Light Side where quiet didn't always mean something terrible was around the corner.
He was three feet from his room when a hand pressed over his mouth.
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Pre-Accepting Anxiety: Virgil hasn't been doing very well at his job lately, and not all the Dark Sides appreciate Deceit's attempts to keep them hidden from sight.
Anxiety makes a convenient scapegoat.