pride ('prId)

Tall and strikingly beautiful, Pride shrouds itself in immaculate garments to hide the filth and rot that nestle at its core. Pride is like a tumor, hardly noticeable at its onset, but inevitably growing to conceal any undesirable aspects of our natures within its own glistening mass. Pride then grows in upon itself, feeding on these hidden flaws to dig deeper and deeper into its host. Eventually, all that is left is a shell, attractive on the outside but filled with nothing but detrius and unpleasant memories.

Vain and regal, Pride views itself as nothing short of holy, gliding over the ground that it considers itself too good to set foot upon; evidence of the foulness confined within its body can be seen in the trail of slime left in its path. For all of Pride's light and aloof appearance it is forced to support itself on its inner filth, crawling, snail-like, on the ground. It keeps its jacket cinched about itself at all times, violently defending its pristine image. In so doing it deceives even itself; Pride has so little left on the inside that to admit to anything less than perfection would drive it mad.

Pride is the most dangerously unstable of the sins. Anything that might call its narrow beliefs into question is viewed with hatred and attacked relentlessly; Pride cannot abide what it considers its lessers, and it cannot admit to itself that it has any betters.