The sin of Envy is such an internal thing.

The envious look for things to want; things to need. It’s easier when they’re in public.

Envy often lingers, unnoticed, somewhere in a discarded booth. Could’ve sworn that seat was empty.

The way she appears isn’t often very glamorous. She knows her crowd. You either try desperately to impress others, or you give up in a quiet hate. All she has to do is look good enough to get you thinking. Sometimes she doesn’t look good at all.

There are two routes she takes: pity or resentment. Pity usually comes from a place of kinship. Resentment comes from a place of comparison. But both routes begin the same.

Envy steps out, straightens her many hands, and stares towards them with her hand-covered face.

"You want to make a deal?"