The fourth deadly sin, of course, is Envy.

She is often overlooked, seen as a crash of Desire and Greed, unnoticed until she is all-consuming.

Envy is poison. Poison like apples and potions and the minds of rotting men. Envy is green. Bright, roiling green like acid and sealing wax on cursed love letters. Envy is hunger. Not hunger for more, always more, like Greed. Not the rapturous, bodily hunger of Desire or the bloody, red-edged lust of Wrath. Envy is hunger for something always just out of reach. Something sweet, something that comes so easily to others.

Something to be taken.

At her core, Envy is want. Need. The need to take what someone else has, what you want so utterly, the desire so deep it is like a bleeding gash in your chest.

It goes unnoticed, for Envy bleeds everyday, and her blood is green acid that hisses when it hits the ground. It takes on a mind of its own and seeps into the thoughts of broken men.

Envy is depicted often as a woman, for women are most often objects of Envy. She has hair and eyes dark like the Void from which she spawned, black like desert snakes one moment, and like softest silk the next.

Envy is beautiful and she is terrible. Her skin is creased with every desirous thought of men, her features sharp like the tang of powder in a spiked glass.

There are many names for those who are most drawn to Envy's reaching fingers. Her objects, victims, prey. Her subjects, servants, paupers. Her kings, gods, masters.

But the most common is the simplest.

Humans.

Uncle Lawrence was snoring. The twins, Seth and Sam, were pretending to enjoy the game. Freddy was talking to Parker. Parker was scrolling on her phone. Mom and her sister Auntie Jacks were cleaning up in the kitchen. Dad was still dead. And I was contemplating exit strategies. Where was Shona? Ducking out of Post Thanksgiving dinner was so much harder when someone had beat you to it. I snuggled under Grammy’s quilt and fantasized about driving a riding mower across the living room and out the bow windows. I turned a page of the Reader’s Digest. My mom and them cackled from the kitchen. Freddy the neighbor boy who invited himself to our holidays leaned in to Parker. The twins cursed at the tv while Uncle Lawrence farted in his sleep. “What that smell?” Parker said still looking down at her phone. Shona appeared. With her extra long locs and boho goth vibe, Shona reminded me of the girl from The Ring. I wondered if I could borrow her hell well. Then I noticed what she was holding. Then we all noticed what she was holding. “Holy shit, the Grudge found the Monopoly!” Sam shouted. Carrying a wine glass, Mom walked out of the kitchen. With a red wine mustache Auntie Jacks followed. Uncle Lawrence blinked in the afternoon sun. Shona raised the slightly crushed dust encrusted box over her head. It smelled of endless bickering, violent arguments, house rules, and that weird scent of old basements. I’d thought the game had been thrown out after the infamous snow day debacle of ‘09. Shona set it on the cleared dining room table. Even though the edges were buckled and burst it was apparent the game was completely intact. The family and Freddy took our places. Uncle Lawrence set the tv to an oldies station. The twins got a knife and the nice dessert plates. Parker carried in sweet potato pie. The smell of pumpkin pie spice and coffee mingled with old basement. Auntie Jacks plunked a boxed wine on the sideboard. Shona looked around the table and lifted the lid.

At the back of the tavern, that's where they sat. Each night, the same: a tankard of spiced mead and a cheese scone.

They never said a word... Never raised a hand or quirked their lip in thanks.

They simply sat..

And ate...

And Paid...

And left, their tall frame gliding out the door in a flap of a verdant cloak.

Tonight was no different.

Elbows on the bar, chin nestled on my palms, I watched... Observed? Perceived? Whichever made me sound less like a stalker.

My view: a moving renaissance painting, a Shakespearean tavern. The foreground: Me. My colleagues. Sweaty-faced and stressed. Wooden trays loaded with empty cups and tongue packed with witty remarks.

The middle ground: Drunk patrons. Sticky floors. Pink cheeks and making merry, hoop dresses hoicked and waistcoats undone. Rowdy. Wild.

And the background: Them. A stooped body. Alone. Framed in the sun’s light, seeping through the bay window. Small movements. Delicate. Deliberate.

Silent.

They never made a noise—no slurp nor burp as they slipped their silver tankard under their furrowed cowl or pinched the cheesy dough between their fingers.

They never left a mess—chair tucked in, table, plate, clean of crumbs, and not a driblet of drink soiled the floor.

They were pleasant, peaceful. And it baffled me.

“Stop gawking.”

I jumped, struck from my daze. Lester’s squashed nose appeared in my peripheral—far too close for comfort—and I elbowed him away. He tossed a grey-mottled tea towel over his shoulder and leant against the bar. Stains varying in colour and questionability graced his apron delicately. A puckered welt left only his left eye open.

I faced him, unamused. “I’m not gawking! I’m—”

“Drooling then.” He whipped the towel and struck the bar with a hard crack. “So stop, or you’ll get saliva all over the lacquer.”

“That’s beer,” I countered, peeling my arms from the sticky bar. The sleeves of my top ripped like an old plaster, the cotton now covered in a new layer of ick. I should've known better. “And I don—”

A playful howl. A typhoon of red silk. The stench of stale rose perfume and sweat. Flouncing, she spilt over the counter, her empty cup clasped in her laced gloves.

“I want... You want... Me?” she slurred. Flush blotched her pale skin; she smiled, her eyes closing halfway. “Desire... You—”

Seizing the tankard, I drowned it in the barrel of brown booze beside me. I brought it back out, hand dripping and slammed it, full, on the bar. Mead sloshed. “Drink,” I said. “Go.”

The woman frowned. Shrugged. And accepting the drink, she stumbled back into the squirming throng, disappearing as quickly as she came.

I sighed.

THEY never disappeared—them in the corner. They were something special, something I couldn't help BUT see. A diamond in the rough. A jewel among a sea of monotonous sand.

I shook my head.

Perhaps the constant exposure to alcohol and the pheromones excreted from rutting customers had poisoned my mind.

Fingers clicked.

“You’re obsessed,” Lester smirked. “Leave them be.”

“I’m not, I’m not obsessed. Just... intrigued, alright. It's like when someone tells you not to look—you can't help BUT look. They’re moreish. Like a crumbly pastry...” My jewel analogy was better. I wiped a hand over my mouth—it smelt of drink. “Am I weird?”

“Yes,” Lester said bluntly. “But that's a whole other kettle of fish. Go talk to them—now don't give me that look—there’s no rule to say not to.”

“There’s not?”

“No.”

No rule? No rule. Rule, no.

Of course there was no rule. This was a public establishment. Public. Where public spoke to public. I worked here—it was technically a rule TO speak to them.

“Fine,” I said, thumping my fist twice on the bar, “you’ve persuaded me. I’ll do it—if it’ll make you happy.”

“It won’t, but I’m sure it'll make you. Or it’ll embarrass you, which WOULD make me happy.”

I left him there—rude fool.

Skimming around the bar, I dodged the swing of a flyaway fist to my jaw, hopped over a hopefully snoozing man, and prised apart a patron squeezing another fellow in a headlock. By the time I reached the back, I was exhausted.

But it wasn't my poor physique that caused my heart to leap. Or the air to leave the room.

Up close, the detail of their cloak was striking. Green cloth shimmered, twinkling with stars of gold. Ethereal. Ivy leaves stitched the brim of their hood, descending over their back to the hem, sprouting blooming flowers of purples and blues.

They didn't look up. Not when I arrived, nor when I cleared my throat.

Still.

Silent.

Calm at the edge of a storm.

Knocking twice gently on the table, I recited what I was going to say in my head. Taking a breath, I raised a hand and whispered, “Hi.”

(Couldn't think where else to take it... 😭😅🫥)

The fiery-haired woman rinsed her hands under the scalding hot water, wincing with each movement. The light above began to flicker, darkening the dingy roadside washroom as she scrubbed the dirt and skin away. Each flicker brought back her memories, each flicker brought it closer to the surface.

‘I am the poison in your veins.’

She shot her head up, staring deep into the green eyes reflected in the mirror. She ground her teeth tight and furrowed her brow, the water still burning the skin away. Burning the last two weeks away. For a moment, she missed the days when her face had fewer wrinkles and creases. When she had nothing to worry about besides a job and school. And then the light flickered once more.

‘I am the desire in your eyes, the craving in your heart.’

She hurried her scrubbing, tearing skin off of bone as she desperately tugged at any semblance of vein she could find. One by one she pulled on the veins in her hands, hoping for the slightest hint of relief. The voice was in her blood, she knew.

‘I am the force that drives you, the life which eludes you. I am everything inside of you and all that surrounds you.’

Her hands torn and bloodied, she shakily reached up and held them in front of her face. “Eyes, heart, everything inside and all around.” She repeated the words through shaking breaths. She would happily sacrifice her eyes if it meant a moment of silence, but her heart? Her insides? The woman’s wish to be free was matched only by a will to live. She was at a loss. She let loose a scream, the only noise for miles. A large man burst into the woman’s washroom, a wrench in hand.

“Ma’am are you alri— Jesus Christ!” The truck driver dropped the tool upon witnessing the woman in the mirror. Her hands were red from the burns and blood, the veins having been forcefully pulled out. Several nails had been removed from her fingers, whether intentionally or not he could not know. She raised her head and met his eyes in the reflection, her lips quivering at the sight. Her eyes swallowed him, deeper and more insatiable than any ocean. He was hers.

‘I am the hunger you fear and the fire inside. I am all that sustains you. Go, fan the flames and sate the hunger.’

Like a light switch flipping from off to on, she turned to face him, the need outweighing every thought and worry she had. She savoured every moment of the man in her eyes, every beat of his heart and every breath he took. She could drown in this feeling if it let her. The feeling of anticipation, of knowing what’s to come. Of desire. But she had to listen. She had to feed the beast inside and continue moving.

“L-lady—“ Before he could utter another word, she was gone before his eyes. And just as quickly, she was there, close enough to feel his breath. His scream broke the silence outside of the rest stop for just a moment, but a moment was all that she needed for the drug she craved. The poison she couldn’t live without. She knew she was running out of time before the beast inside reduced her mind to need and instinct, but so long as she could feel the rush, she would not find the energy to care.

She looked out the window into the rain. A breath let lose between her lips as she slowly traced her hand up the drapes. Her fingers moved between the curves of the fabric. She took a step back and she let lose a sigh. She walked towards the vanity and plopped down as she listened to the rain drops splatter on the roof.

She looked dishelved. Sunken eyes, grey and red coloring her eye bags. Cheeks hollow, lips pursed and pink while the rest of her face was lacking in color. She raked her hands through her dull brown hair, separating knots and twists as she looked at her face.

Grabbing a jar of the counter of the vanity, she began to slather green liquid to her skin. The liquid was bright and had an odd smell to it, but the minute it hit her skin it sunk into her pores.

Slowly her skin became more alive, tone filling her pale white complexion as if blood rushed to her face. A blush hit her cheeks as they became fuller, her eyes shine a brighter blue, her hair took a glossy black tone. Her face shifted and transformed until she was almost a completely different person. Her eyes were brighter and bigger, her cheeks full and healthy, her lips colorful and puffy, her hair glossy and rich, her nose thinner and slightly upturned, her eyebrows full and arched. She looked more desirable, she looked more like a woman you’d see on a night out soaking up the attention.

She looked back to the mirror and grabbed a small tube of crimson lipstick to which she applied generously to her lips. When done she stood and walked to the wardrobe, as she only wore a thin nightgown, and that wouldn’t do for going out.

Flinging the doors open she grabbed for a black shirt that sat loose with large sleeves, which she layered under a deep velvet red corset. She back in for a black long skirt and a pair of black tall boots that reached her knee cap. After she finished dressing she threw her hair up in a haphazard bun that left loose little curls around her nape and ears.

Taking one final look in the mirror she smiled at herself, adjusting her breasts to sit high and at the center of attention, practically spilling over the neckline of her shirt. Then she walked out the door into the night.

_

The bar was loud and obnoxious. Drunks sloshed over chairs spilling their cups on the floor or other patrons, while others played pool, the loud smack of the balls echoing through the hall.

She made a dash for the empty stool at the bar, as it was the last left. She plopped down next to a burly man whose arms were covered in tattoos. His clothes looked as if he hacked at them with scissors himself just to show off the ink covering his skin. A cigarette hung off his lip as he pounded his empty glass down so the bar tender might acknowledge his lack of alcohol and pour him more. Bastard looked as if he’d had enough though, his eyes drooped and his body swayed a bit with every move he made.

Wouldn’t taste very good.

Her eyes slid to look to her other side. A quiet man with a curly-q mustache and hair slicked back. He had a button up flannel tucked into jeans with biker boots on his feet. Well- mannered, polite, but wants to be left alone. Easy to tell from how He leaned over his drink and kept to himself careful not took take up too much room or piss anyone off.

Perfect.

Small talk, nothing too personal but just enough to make him interested.

She smiled at him as she asked the bartender for a shot of tequila.

“What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey.”

Short, simple, no move to make more talk.

She turned slightly more towards him angling herself so her breast might pop a bit more. The bartender handed her shot to her and she knocked it back.

“You like shots?”

“No.”

“A girl piss you off?”

“No.”

“Work piss you off?”

“No.”

“Am I pissin you off?”

“Yes.”

He glared at her and she snickered slightly.

The taste would be divine.

“You know once you make an effort to talk to me, I think you’d really love me.”

“Doubtful.”

“Tsk-tsk, so negative. Do you work around her?”

“No.”

He looked to the bartender as if pleading to be saved.

“So you work around here, and I bet you are here cuz girl problems. If you aren’t here trying to get a girl, you’re here drinking because of a girl.”

“Would you shut up?”

“Sorry but my mouth likes to keep busy.” She winked at him, egging him on.

“I simply want to drink and be left alone.”

“That sounds like a man nursing a broken heart. Or a long day at work where his boss chewed his ass out.”

He side eyed her.

“She cheated on me with my boss.”

Salty. The taste would be salty, but so tender too.

“So a bitch and a dick is what you’re drinking about? Sounds like another whiskey is in order.”

She catches the bartender as they pass motioning for another glass of whiskey for the man and two shots for herself.

She coaxes the man to admit more of his wretched life as she continues filling him with whiskey.

His eyes become more glassy with each drink. His mouth blabs out more as his hands become touchier. He leans towards her as the time passes. After an hour his stools found it’s way closer.

“I’m going to get the fuck out of this place tomorrow. I got no reason to stay in this shithole. I’ll get a new job and find a new girl. I don’t need all this shit.”

She leaned in close. Nibbling on his ear lobe she breathed out, “I can get you’re mind moved on from her. I can give you a whole new experience she never could have.”

He looked at her with desire in his eyes. His pupils trailing from her face to her breasts and back up. He smiled a devilish grin.

She stood and took his hand. He stumbled as he dismounted from the stool and followed her to the door. His body swayed as they weaved through the patrons, drinking, laughing, arguing, enjoying their drunk existence in the bar, unaware of the dirty deeds that would transpire.

Just as unaware as the man clutching her hand.

_

They made way from the bar door to the stairs on the side of the building. Her home just above the bar. It was perfect. The climbed the steps, his heavy boots causing the steps to reverberate. She slid the key in the lock and turned it letting him inside her precious little space.

She worked so hard to make it homey for herself. Dark earthy tones covering the surfaces. She guided the drunken man to the velvet couch where she pushed him down. She sat atop his lap his hands instantly cupping her ass. She lay one hand atop his shoulder the other pushing his jaw aside to display his neck to the soft light. She licked the skin as she whispered to him, “No other woman could make you feel the way I will.” With a soft click her teeth separated making room for large canines. She pierced his skin. His hands grasped tighter at her cheeks while Green liquid would mix with his blood bringing him an ethereal sense of comfort and calm and she drank him dry. His body became more relaxed every second she continued. She drank him dry, so she stood and stepped back

His skin had began to crease, his body becoming a husk of what it was.

She licked her lips taking in the sweet and salty taste she’d sucked up from his tender flesh.

Alcohol was a poison to humans but it made for a wonderful tool to get the simple things she desired.

those lips—they could kiss a man senseless, leave him gasping for air, choking from the lack of oxygen in his lungs, then—dead.

within those creases, those little lines that defined her pout just so, and that enticing divot right in the center of her upper lip that men—and occasionally women—had once begged to kiss away, well they could go ahead and kiss it, if they wouldn’t mind too much the poison that would slowly seep from those oh-so-kissable lips, into their greedy mouths, slipping over their tongue and past their throat, eventually tunneling through their bloodstreams and stopping their heart mid-beat.

and she would let go of their mouths with one, last, sensual suck, making the sound that only the separation of mouths can make, wave them farewell and glide away, leaving them lightheaded—from the kiss, which happened to also be stealing the oxygen from their blood cells. it was too easy.

In my mind it’s always known that women are beautiful, kind, caring, affectionate, and quiet. Or- that’s what they should be. As a man I always search for a women of these sorts. I was taught to treat women with respect and to always respect boundary’s. And as I follow this un-said rule; I always have been fascinated with the art of trying to figure out somone, before you try to take things further. So, when I noticed her aggressive but humerus demeanor, I was quite intrigued.

I was at the bar when I first noticed her, she was sipping her drink staring off into a group of people huddled in the corner. She wore a black dress the showcased her back. Her hair was perfectly tucked away in a bun. She was stunning. And quiet which I love on a women. She wasn’t chatting or loud she was minding her own business. That’s what stood out at first. She was already so desirable.

I watched her as she gracefully strutted over to the group she was glaring at. I was close enough to make out what they were saying- or at least a few words.

“Hey, I’m glad you finally decided to join us!” A women there stated.

She stared at them silently and it suddenly got akward.

“Look I’m not coming here out of pitty. I’m coming over here to tell you to fuck off And get out of my life. My life has nothing to do with you. I’m not another bitch you can be fake too, get over yourself and stop thinking your better then everyone else.” She said all this with out a slight smile on her face.

I couldn’t help but the way she put them in there place just creased me up. I’ve never seen a attractive women like that use so many cuss words. And be so quiet and scary with them.

The clacking of her red heals were getting louder, she walked right pass me and headed for the door. Without thinking I quickly got up and grabbed her arm to turn her around and face me.

“Get your hands off of me.” She stared into my eyes with a discussed look. Her glare was poisonous I craved for her to look at me longer.

“Sorry- I was wondering if I could buy you a quick drink before you leave.” I asked trying to use the most of my charm.

“Haha, why would I do that when I clearly want to leave. And I don’t know you. I’m not going to blindly trust a stranger.” She bluntly stated.

“That’s a good point- maybe I could take a few minutes of your time and we can talk or at least let me get your number.” I pushed.

“Please,” she said sarcastically and walked out the door.

That night I did something I would have never done- I followed her home when I snuck out the bar after her. Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that in that moment I was already addicted to her. I desired her, and I will do anything to get what I deeply desire even if it is a women…

⚠️ NOT A REAL STORY, AND I AM NOT A TOXIC SEXIST MAN ⚠️- just wanted to make that clear lmao.

Topher Lane, it is the most lavish and boldly presented part of the wealthiest district. Many shops and venders present their sumptuous goods just off of the cobbled brick road, a sweet aroma floating in the air all around. The red hues of every vendor’s carts, shops, buildings, and objects adds to the atmosphere, shining through the golden morning.

 Looking to buy a cake, Igor strolls down the amply wide sidewalk. Formal wear, he is dressed in, flows in sync with the refreshing, crisp wind. His destination is a wedding cake shop he frequently visits to satisfy his sugary desires. He smiles warmly.

 He pauses, coming across a gap between two polished buildings. He peers into the alley. Staring back at him, A young girl holds a stale hunk of bread almost swallowed by dreadful greys and spiteful shadows of the alley. Her large, wide eyes go blank, skin creasing into a worrying expression.

 Igor frowns, and with a snooty tone in his voice he rants, “What are you doing in this dingy alley? You should be disappointed to be in a place so dirty.” He pause a moment, adjusts his deep ruby tie, and assess how to deal with this ill mannered girl. “You need to be disciplined young lady. What is your name?” he questions aggressively.

 Tears welling up in her gloomy eyes, she takes a small breath to respond. “lily,” She offers and sniffles, “sir.” 

 Realizing this girl was not native to this district, Igor notices her pale skin. It seems malnourished and poisoned. He wonders to her, “Where are you from?”

 She turns to the side, timidly pointing to a whole in a thick, oppressing chain link fence. He follows her to it, and they both go through.

 On the other side, a sea of slums meets their gaze. Houses stacked upon other eclipses the barren, narrow streets weaving their way haphazardly through the area. A fume of putrid smoke engulfs the air, adding an uncomfortable humidity. The atmosphere is digested in dreadful greys and spiteful shadows.

 Igor starts, “is this?” stammering, he begins again, “you live here?” His voice plunges into pity. 

 She stutters, “yes,” trailing off before she punctuates the response with a, “sir.” 

 The confusion in his eyes satisfies into raw compassion. He, without stalling delay, apologizes, “I’m so sorry child.” He reaches inside his unending pockets, pulling out a coin, and he urges her, “here.”

 The young girl accepts the beaming red coin, eyes sparkling with desirous delight. She takes off. her feet carrying her into the midst of the slums.

 Standing up, Igor takes in the grim surroundings. He struggles to accept the view, grappling with something deeper inside his character. 

 He returns back to Topher lane, deciding he is no longer in need of any sugary temptation.

Margot was meticulously organized. Everything had a place and there was a place for everything. She always presented herself well. Her clothing was impeccable, everything ironed, starched, tied up. Just so. She never had a hair out of place. But Margot was never happy with what she had. She was always wanting for more. Always striving to be better, to get the promotion, to get the sought after man, to get the new TV. She never felt satisfied. And she had a way of making sure that when you hung out with her, you never felt satisfied as well. And not just in the way a good friend might push you or challenge you. Margot had a way of making sure you knew that you were less than, that you were left wanting. And she did it all with a bright friendly attitude, a smile on her face, and not a single hair out of place.

The creased skin The poison personality Desirous and cruel Wealthy perpetuity Fixated on calamity No concern for gravity The powerful apocalypse Take us for a ride Into the unknown