Verity

If one innocent child of good verity were to pull at the threads of reality, if the truth were a sprig of blossom, It would wilt as soon as plucked. As soon as torn from the bough its powers and influence would wane, the reflection of its mirrored image would inflict the greatest pain, its knife- be blunted instantly and turned outward when the vision of itself is transmuted into lesser metals, it would stab, stab poison at its nearest and dearest. Till all its lifeless blossom, inert chaos holds no more toxic allure for evil spirits Appeal or attraction for even him lord Satan.