The Widow

Ask the Widow's opinion on...

• Origins: She claims to hail from a certain 'Fallen' London. "A perilous place for those without wealth or status," she says, the warm glow of nostalgia softening her voice. "Of course, I survived to see both."
• The Republic: "The heart of various trade networks." Her smile is humourless and her eyes are sharp, as if appraising you on some unfathomable metric. "I wouldn't recommend it as a vacation destination."
• Art: She shrugs almost imperceptibly. "A respectable hobby, but rarely a sensible profession. Surely there are better ways to make a living."
• Egalitarianism: The Widow wrinkles her nose as if something repulsive had wafted in through the window.
• Children: She rolls the word on her tongue the way an auctioneer would describe a valuable commodity. "Children are the unimaginative man's legacy, and the creative man's future." A smile curtains over her face, her eyes inscrutable.
• Power: The Widow indulges you with a low chuckle. "Overrated," She says with a wave of her hand. "It isn't power that lends purpose to life, but our appetite for more."
• Marriage: There is a brief silence. The Widow swirls her snifter of brandy. "Remember this: no marriage is indissoluble. If the law is insufficient, I guarantee a vat of boiling brandy will do the trick." A pause. "I am only joking, of course."

A closer inspection

• Shadows: The widow's visage is half-silhouetted. She holds her meetings in low light, wears wide-brimmed Cartwheel hats during the day, and turns away when curious eyes pry. Scars, creases, and the precipitates of age dot and stripe her face like a quilt patterned after some harrowing truth. "It isn't polite to stare," She whispers thinly. The tone of her voice recommends that you end your scrutiny.

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