' her ' that's what they said -- ' her job, her things, she is up the stairs. ' Envy feels invigorated, tangible, real hearing a pronoun other than it. Envy is somebody now, with a life, a mind beyond a singular desire to be someone it isn't. She flexes her fingers, drums them on the table. Her hair is freshly washed, and drying in the sun as she meanders through Skyhold's courtyard.
She is watching the spirit. She can see him from her corner of the courtyard, and that he will know that the mind is wrong, like a cuckoo's egg in a warbler's nest. Most spirits and demons who are not hideously ill-informed are aware of Envy's parasitic nature, and can distinguish between the real and the impostor, but only if they care to look.
Maybe she will have him killed. Could she do that? Envy considers -- probably. Humans are afraid of demons, aren't they? Would anyone miss such a creature? No, of course not.
She would wait, watch, observe in that curious manner that Envy had -- unless she caught his eye, at which moment she would do her best to slip into the shadow of the castle, where anything that happened would be out of sight.
