Considered a sin to most, pride—“the essential vice, the utmost evil”—is, to Lucrecia Falco, her most cherished attribute. It keeps her warm at night and calm in times of stress. Be it true or not, she knows she’s better than most, if not everyone. It was the sole fact for which her universe existed, and hers is the only one that matters.
To be prideful is to be tantamount to Royalty and akin to God. Lucrecia knew she was both, or at least she knew she deserved to be. Ichor coursed through her veins, ebbing and flowing through her as natural as the tides. Her temple ached to hold a crown, to reveal to all of Verona the sovereignty she was destined for.
Pride: the sin which shall lead to all other sins.
Violet: the most popular color associated with one’s pride.
Lucrecia never understood this logic, never understood why the word pride was spoken in hushed tones and in secrecy. Why a trait such as pride was not represented with something bolder, a more striking color. As if being proud of oneself is wrong, something to be ashamed of. She couldn’t disagree more. If one is proud, one should acknowledge it, share it, be confident in it.
Red: the color of fire, energy, passion, desire—everything Lucrecia aims to emanate.
Her favorite color; a proud color.
“You want too much. Is it not enough to simply be who you are?” They asked, begging Lucrecia to settle, to accept what is. But striving for greatness and the adoration accompanying such an achievement is all Lucrecia knows, all she desires.
“No. It is not,” she replies firmly, her words coated in an unshakable ambition, “I want more.”
“[...] It was through Pride that the devil became the devil:
Pride leads to every other vice: it is the complete anti-God state of mind.”
“If you never learn to appreciate what the world hands you, your time on Earth shall surely be spent alone.”
“So be it. I would rather be alone than be considered nothing.”
