Verity

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"Are you quite sure you want to know this?"

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"She prowls through the crowd like she's searching for something. Some people crane their necks for a second look. Others avoid her gaze entirely. No one gets in her way."[2]

The Collector[edit | edit source]

"All Devils are beautiful, in their own ways; even the ones that don’t remotely resemble people. But this one is beautiful in the specific way that a Renaissance marble is beautiful: something hard and eternal impersonating something pliable and fleeting."[3]

Verity is a strikingly beautiful deviless even by human standards,[4] with pale skin that is compared to the cold white marble of a Renaissance sculpture.[4][5] A largely private figure with few allegiances,[6] she maintains meticulous control of her bearing and expressions, so as to appear nonchalant and betray none of her thoughts.[7]

The Nymph and the Poet[edit | edit source]

"Oh, is that who sent you? Good to know. What's the saying? 'In the matters of the Bazaar, look always to love?' It's not the Bazaar – it's the whole d___ed city. Verity can justify it however she likes. The truth is that she – well, she-that-was – was in love, at one point. And she wants to cling on to the remains of that."[8]

In the days of the Second City, when the laws of the Sun were more lenient, the boundaries between the Neath and the Surface were more porous. Consequently, in addition to the known instances of humans finding their way into the Neath, it was much easier and safer for devils to journey upward.[9] One of these infernal travelers was a young deviless, who met a human poet and musician while on the Surface. She was drawn to the eloquent Lyrist for the brilliance of his sun-touched soul;[9] calling herself Eurydice,[1] she pretended to be a mortal woman from somewhere far away in order to court him.[10] The deviless and the Lyrist never met under the gaze of the Sun,[10] but it would still have been too difficult to abstract his soul on the Surface, so Eurydice lured her lover into the Neath.[11] She feigned her death, tricking the Lyrist into descending to the Neath in the belief that he was rescuing her from the underworld.[12]

Like many newcomers to a Fallen City, the Lyrist soon succumbed to its seductions. The splendors of the Neath distracted him from his quest,[13] and when Eurydice found him again, he had imbibed Hesperidean Cider. Fearing that his indulgences would change his soul beyond recognition, Eurydice readied herself to abstract his soul.[14] The Lyrist, believing this to be an act of devotion,[15] complied willingly - on the condition that his beloved would care for whatever was left of him afterwards.[16] Once his soul was gone, however, so too was his love for Eurydice - or so he believed. He returned to the Surface alone,[17] but his former neighbors recoiled at the sight of a man returned from the underworld. They dismembered the unfortunate Lyrist and sent him back to the Neath,[18] but thanks to the Hesperidean Cider, he did not die.[19] Eurydice managed to find his still-living head, and took it into her care.[20]

Indeed, Eurydice loved the Lyrist all along.[21] Even now, millennia later, Verity keeps her old flame's head[22] - despite the fact that she lost his soul, the prize she once coveted, long ago.[23] As for the Lyrist himself, according to a devil who knew about their story, his head is conscious enough to express ambivalence as to whether to regret the choices that led him to his fate.[24]

Cultural Inspirations[edit | edit source]

Verity's backstory is a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. In the original Greek myth, Orpheus, a mortal man taught to play the lyre by the sun god Apollo, fell deeply in love with the beautiful nymph Eurydice. Their happiness was short-lived, however, as Eurydice was bitten by a snake and died soon after their wedding. Overcome with grief, Orpheus resolved to descend into the underworld to bring her back. His music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone, who agreed to release Eurydice on one condition: she must follow behind Orpheus as they returned to the world of the living, and he must not look back at her until they both reached the surface.

As they ascended, doubt overtook Orpheus; fearing she was no longer there, he turned to look, only to see Eurydice vanish back into the shadows forever. Stricken with despair, Orpheus wandered the earth mourning his loss, singing songs of grief so profound that nature itself wept. In the end, he met a violent death, either at the hands of frenzied Maenads or by Zeus's thunderbolt. Even in death, his head continued to sing, and his lyre was set among the stars as a constellation, symbolizing the eternal power of love, art, and sorrow.

References[edit | edit source]

  1. ↑ 1.0 1.1 Virginia: High Trust Inquiries, Mask of the Rose "Virginia: Eurydice wasn't human, you know. I knew the girl. Well, I say girl..."
  2. ↑ Verity, the Collector, Fallen London
  3. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London
  4. ↑ 4.0 4.1 A Devil's Due, Fallen London "All Devils are beautiful, in their own ways; even the ones that don’t remotely resemble people. But this one is beautiful in the specific way that a Renaissance marble is beautiful: something hard and eternal impersonating something pliable and fleeting."
  5. ↑ Reveal a cyclical truth to the False-Student, Fallen London "After Hallowmas, Verity hosts you in her townhouse. [...] As the candle burns down, her eyes seem to flare brighter. Her teeth seem to grow sharper. Her skin pales, becoming more and more like marble."
  6. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "You can place her face at a few Brass Embassy functions. You know that she goes by the name 'Verity', undoubtedly adopted after London fell. But she's a fairly private Deviless – no particular allegiances that you can recall. [...]"
  7. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "After a few minutes of conversation with Verity, it's apparent that everything about her demeanour is a carefully maintained performance. She sits on the arm of a sofa to project insouciance. She keeps her eyes on you. She reveals nothing at all about what she's thinking."
  8. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London
  9. ↑ 9.0 9.1 A Devil's Due, Fallen London ""It is neither proper nor safe for a Devil to visit the Surface. Unheard of in these times. But in the days of the Second City, the Laws used to be softer. And maybe we were younger, more foolish then." He slathers avuncular cheer onto every word. The Second City fell some three thousand years ago. But is that even such a long time in the lifespan of Devils? "Even today, there's something special to a soul that was only recently bathed in sunlight. And the Lyrist worshipped the sun. His soul had a great deal to recommend it.""
  10. ↑ 10.0 10.1 A Devil's Due, Fallen London "She was young, for a Deviless. Freshly molted; a nymph. [...] When the Lyrist asked where she came from, she'd laugh and tell him she came down from the mountains. Their courtship happened only at night-time festivals, when the Sun was far below the horizon."
  11. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "Even if she could walk the surface, it's not so easy to abstract a soul there. So when she returned to the Neath, she made sure that he'd come after her. Perhaps he believed he was rescuing her from the underworld."
  12. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "The version of the story he recounts is as much penny-dreadful as romance. He spends a great deal of time on the Lyrist's descent into the Neath – a journey of several days through a dark cave riddled with horrors. "She made him believe she was dead, you know; he really did think he was descending into the underworld to rescue his love.""
  13. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "How many have come down to the Neath pursuing a goal and then drowned in pleasure? The Lyrist was only a man, in an unfamiliar city. Before he found his Nymph, he found honey, and the fighting-circle, and the reed games. His soul is quite particular. There's the unjustified belief; the unresolved love; the indulgence and the guilt. [...] There used to be more artistry to it. In these days there's so many of you we simply search the mass of humanity for suitable souls."
  14. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "She abstracted his soul moments after his first sip of cider."
  15. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "He agreed to abstraction, of course. How else would his soul have ended up in a jar? But he viewed it as more than what it was. As a covenant. Love, maybe. [...] Mortals sometimes misunderstand. It usually ends in tears. The Lyrist certainly understood very little; he chose to come down to the Neath, chasing what he thought was his."
  16. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "He knew. Maybe from the moment he set eyes on me, he knew where it was headed. He was too in love with the idea of me to let go. But at the end, after everything, he made his bargain on the condition that I'd take care of whatever was left of him."
  17. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "His soul loved her – or at least that's what he told himself; impossible to tell with mortals. When he was freed of it, he had no reason to stay with her. So he climbed his way back to the Surface. Foolish, of course – he'd never survive the Sun, not after indulging in the Neath for so long."
  18. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "Not that he had a chance to find out. He didn't get the hero's welcome he expected when he came back from the underworld. Maybe they feared that he'd bring something back with him. They sent him right back down to the Neath. In pieces."
  19. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London ""He took to the cider well. All too well. The formulation was... not exactly correct, in those days." Is she implying that the Lyrist may still be alive? "Ah, that is a matter of some debate. But he's not the man he once was. Is this a vague answer? I suppose there's no straightforward telling to these old stories.""
  20. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "The box is sized more or less exactly to contain a man's head. And, indeed, it does. Severed at the top of the neck – and not with a clean cut, either – it stares mutely out at you. In spite of its condition, this is not quite the head of a dead man. He is at least as alive as the better-preserved tomb-colonists, if not more. "I didn't just keep his soul, you see." The pleasant insincerity has drained from her face."
  21. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "Oh, is that who sent you? Good to know. What's the saying? 'In the matters of the Bazaar, look always to love?' It's not the Bazaar – it's the whole d___ed city. Verity can justify it however she likes. The truth is that she – well, she-that-was – was in love, at one point. And she wants to cling on to the remains of that. [...] It is more than a little unseemly. But she marches to the beat of her own drum... in a manner of speaking, I mean."
  22. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "I promised that I'd look after him, and his soul. I don't regret what happened to him. It wasn't all my fault; and I am several lives removed from the creature that abstracted his soul. [...] But some responsibilities linger across lifetimes. Is that the truth you wanted?"
  23. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "She shrugs. "Souls change hands. Commerce and other struggles." She turns her head away for a moment, as if in recollection. "We don't know what we have until it's gone. Isn't that right?" You can just barely spot the tiny twitch of irritation in the corner of her mouth. Is the question a sore spot for her? Maybe she lost the soul in unpleasant circumstances."
  24. ↑ A Devil's Due, Fallen London "Did he regret it? Enormously. Some of the time. Other times, I'm sure he was resolute that he wouldn't change a thing. [...] Regret, like most chronic pains, tends to come and go. But abstraction was not the worst thing that happened to him."
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