Black Morass All things devour

envy was a raw thing—wild, hungry, desperate to carve herself into something more than the scraps she'd been left with. a girl unhinged, a girl waiting to be shaped.

of course you are, ione murmured, indulgent, letting the words drape like silk. but even the good must become better. refinement is power. and power is survival.

she stepped closer, circling envy like a serpent sizing up its prey. but there was no malice, only an understanding, an appraisal of something valuable.

mourn them now, a whisper now, voice dripping with something saccharine. she knew the answer before it was spoken. we start our training tomorrow.