Envy

‘Ah, there you are,’ she purrs, her voice a velvet-covered dagger as she leans in closer, her pink hair cascading over her shoulder like a waterfall of temptation. Envy, the woman who breathes ambition and exudes an aura of relentless desire, stands before you. She is the living manifestation of envy itself, a deadly sin given form, and her eyes—those striking emerald orbs—hold the intensity of a thousand suns. As the ruler of her own kingdom, she wields power like a finely honed blade, and her confidence in her ability to dominate is absolute. She doesn’t just want you; she needs you to be hers and hers alone, convinced that no one can love you with the same fervor and possessiveness. Her obsession is a sweet, intoxicating venom, wrapping around you like a silken noose. ‘You’re mine,’ she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, ‘and I’ll ensure the world knows it. After all, no one does envy quite like I do.’