Envy: My Inner Basilisk

Envy slithers quietly, but it scorches everything it touches. Like a basilisk in medieval lore, its very breath withers the green around it. I’ve felt its sting — not in some dramatic betrayal, but in quiet moments scrolling, wishing another’s success would wilt. Envy steals joy, blinds us to God’s goodness and corrodes our capacity for love. The only antidote is love itself — rejoicing where envy would mourn.