en·vy ('en-vE)

One of the more sorrowful sins, who harbors against him feelings of both pity and despise. We envy those that we know to possess things we do not, and shall never have. Robbed of all five senses, this character envies us all to one extent or another. Even the lowest of men has at least one thing that Envy does not, be it the ability to see, the pleasure of taste, to feel the caress of another. Its frame is thin and insidious, wasted away by want. Envy consumes itself in its desire. We focus so much on what others have, that we fail to acknowledge the things that we possess, allowing them to wither away.

Envy is infectious. Like a cancer, it can spread outside ourselves. An infinite body of tendrils, grafted grotesquely onto the host, that lash out at all things around it, winding and twisting. As it plagues others, it knots itself into an unyielding mass. If we all harbor this sin, from the lowest to the highest, then who is most enviable? Perhaps he with nothing at all.