[Nicole Anstalionah.]
Nicholas was always strange like that. He never seemed too bothered by my words, nor did he care that I was supposed to be in a cell.
Though today, he did something incredible. He called me his sister.
To be fair, I did call him brother first. Usually, he just ignores me when I say that.
He even asked my name. That surprised me more than I'd like to admit.
I set the silver plates down on the table and turned to Jen.
"Do you think he's gone insane?"
Jen shrugged. She had long auburn hair and black eyes, with a fair complexion that made her look too clean for a place like this.
"My guess?" she said. "He just decided to abandon your sins."
She was supposed to be a binding light. That answer felt like a waste of divine insight.
"He doesn't care about another's sins," I muttered. "Nicholas is a sinner himself."
Jen chuckled.
"By the might of Zeus, maybe he plans to invite you back into the family."
Right. Jen was a follower of Zeus. That alone made her... different.
"No, I don't think so," I said. "Besides, my little brother isn't one to take back his word."
I brushed off my chest and turned back to her. "I'll be going now. Malachi should have someone to greet him."
She nodded as I stepped out of the room.
After taking many turns through the winding halls, I finally reached the castle entrance, where two knights stood guard.
Bowing slightly, they opened the door.
And there he was.
Long, curly black hair. Deep blue eyes like an ocean.
Skin like bark. White armor that gleamed like a saint's, and a black sword strapped to his back like a demon's curse.
"Nicole? I'm surprised you yourself have chosen to greet me."
He bowed quickly, then looked up. "I hear Nicholas has become… different."
So there had been gossip. It held no value, I suppose.
"He is perfectly fine. Now come, let me guide you to him."
He stared at me, confused, but took my hand without question.
Malachi was strong, the strongest knight in the kingdom, and the Duke of the North.
Nicholas trusted him deeply and held him in high regard.
His abilities rivaled entire armies, and his mind was incredible. Truly, his only flaw was his devotion to his love.
I turned the corner and stopped before a door. I looked back at him. "Could you wait here for a moment?"
He nodded with a smile. "Anything for you. Though I must ask… why is it that you st—"
I raised my hand. "Ah. That's something I'd rather not indulge." He gave me a pained expression. "He's lucky, that brother of yours."
I nodded gently and turned to leave, just as he opened the door.
Malachi was a soldier. In contrast, I was nothing more than a servant.
War is an inevitable conclusion, born from the undying need to prove oneself to another.
Pride, to me, has always been the first sin, the original fracture.
From it, all others unfold.
Pride teaches a man that he is owed the world. And when the world does not yield, envy takes root, whispering that others have what he deserves.
Envy, left unchecked, turns to wrath. A hunger not just to have, but to destroy.
That wrath sharpens into gluttony, not just an appetite for food or drink, but a ravenous consumption of attention, power, and praise.
A need to fill every inch of emptiness with excess.
And when even excess fails to satisfy, gluttony curdles into greed.
Greed is the refusal to let go, the hoarding of what one does not need, the blind clutching at more simply because more exists.
Even lust, in its most sinful form, stems from that same emptiness, a longing to possess, to be possessed, to devour intimacy without meaning.
But sloth… sloth is different.
Sloth is not born from the others. It is their grave.
It is the stillness that follows the storm. The surrender that comes when nothing else has worked.
Sloth is not loud. It does not rage or writhe. It only watches, and waits, and withers.
And Nicholas… for all his ideals, for all his power, he was always slothful in the end.
Not because he lacked will, but because he chose to let it rot. He let his dreams die quietly, wrapped in clever words and noble excuses.
That was his sin.
And now? I wonder if it is mine too. I was quite lazy.
I chuckled quietly as I made my way back to Nicholas. He was the most slothful of us all.
Nicholas was a man of many ambitions, many goals and ideals.
Perfect in that manner. But his sin… it changed him. Into what he is. Or rather, what he was.
I looked down at my trembling palm. For the first time in a long while, I was feeling something.
I smiled softly and pushed open his doors. Inside, Nicholas was tying his hair back while Mirabel handed him his wrapped sword.
"Malachi is waiting for you, little brother."
In an instant, Mirabel raised a blade of red mana to my neck. Nicholas chuckled.
"I love it when she does that. Don't you, Nicole?"
I tilted my head. "Threatens your dear elder sister?"
Mirabel turned to him, confused. "You allow it?"
He waved his hand lazily. "What she did was bad. But it was necessary. It made me a better man. So yes, I'll allow her to return."
Nicholas had this habit: whenever he truly wanted something, he'd go out of his way to sabotage it. A tragic flaw.
Mirabel slowly lowered her blade, then bowed slightly. "Welcome back."
I placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in, my lips nearly brushing her ear.
"My little brother loves you… I do too."
I bowed slightly and turned away, a smile overflowing with quiet joy.
Nicole. He hadn't called me that in over seven years.
I do love the way it sounds.
My sin was not one written into the world. None of them knew.
They didn't know why I abandoned my role as heir to the throne.
In truth, it was myself, or rather, my selflessness.
To be a ruler, one must abandon their current ideals and subject oneself to ideologies beyond their own.
To form my own conclusion about this world is to challenge the idea of something greater.
I am no dictator. I am a revolutionist.
I've met angels before.
When my parents died, bless their hearts, idols descended from the skies. Angels and demons, elves and dragons, all came to offer their praise.
And within that praise, I committed a terrible sin.
I looked down at my palm again as I entered my old room.
Undressing, I threw everything off.
The room was bare. Hardwood floors. Black brick walls. Tinted windows.
Everything had been stripped away.
Spinning in its emptiness, I began to laugh.
I was shaking. It wasn't madness. It was contemplation.
I was craving something so deeply that it triggered a synthesis, something alchemical in my soul.
Etched into the skin of my right palm was a mark. A curse.
A curse that took everything from me.
My brother knew it too. Only he could see it.
Only those who bore such a mark could see it on others.
When one takes control of a sin so potent it begins to warp them… that's when they understand how vital virtue truly is.
A white snake coiled around my fingers, its eyes pale as nothingness, its fangs bared in silence.
For it bore the essence of envy.
I know I once praised pride as the original sin.
But envy… envy is its second coming. And for that, I must confess.
I am the most envious of them all.