Sloth

Sloth is not sleep. It is surrender. The death that comes before dying.

Entombed within a throne of roots and silence, she sits in stillness, not asleep, not dead, simply untouched by time or will. Her ashen skin is cracked like dry clay, faintly glowing from within, as though embers once burned there but gave up. Mushrooms sprout along her body, vines tangle through her hollowed form, and her once-regal hair has become a nest for moths.

A decaying floral crown rests upon her head, a wilted relic of beauty and purpose long lost. In her limp hand, she holds an hourglass, but she does not watch it. Time slips away, ignored. All around her, stone fingers reach out from her throne to claim her fully.

She is Sloth, the slow rot of apathy. The sin that doesn’t destroy… it forgets.

Part of the 7 Deadliest collection.