Envy will bask in the glory of others, and she'll come to despise it all the same. She soaks in all of the achievements and triumphs that aren't hers, sinking deeper and deeper in an endless green abyss of deteriorating self-worth.

"Tasha has better hair," she mumbles with crossed arms, a dirty look souring her features.

"Amber can juggle chainsaws," she whines aloud while consulting to her daily journal, the journal she would often vomit out her complaints onto.

"Billy-Bob found the cure for cancer!" she exclaims, her voice like speakers on blast and rumbling earthquakes.

Everyone is better than her at everything. She is an ant in contrast, an outcast not adequate for the wonderful elite that radiates with flaming awesomeness.

She wants to be more, yet she can never seem to be enough.

She is Envy and she needs a bigger journal.