ENVY — The Witch Who Wanted More

She was pretty. She knew it, and for a while, that was enough. But "pretty" stopped feeling like enough the moment she noticed what other people had that she didn't—and once she started noticing, she couldn't stop. She told herself she only wanted enough magic to smooth the edges, to fix what nature had overlooked.

It didn't stay small. The spells that started on her own reflection turned outward, aimed at anyone she measured herself against. First it was subtle—a few new wrinkles here, some thinning hair there, nothing anyone could immediately trace back to her. Then it stopped being subtle. Missing teeth. Lost voices. Poison became easier than patience because she'd learned something everyone else hadn't: you don't have to become the prettiest woman in the room if you're willing to empty it.

She's still out there, still beautiful, still convinced beauty was never really the point. It was always about making sure no one else could ever be more beautiful than she was.