Today’s offering is once again focusing on Vanity. From what I’ve read, Vanity and Pride seem to be about the same in the world of the Seven Deadly Sins, so I’ll probably flip back and forth between them.
At 16 years old, she discovered spray tanning, hair dye and extensions. Her last two years of high school were spent looking bronzed and gorgeous, with long hair that other girls would kill for. She exulted in the adoration and envy of her fellow high schoolers.
When she reached the ripe old age of 18, she took a long hard look at her body and decided that she couldn’t live with the size of her breasts anymore. They were too small, and she needed them bigger. She saved all the money she could and by the age of 20, she went under the knife and upgraded to DD’s. She was proud of her new body, and she flaunted it as much as she could.
At 22 years old, she decided that she had been partying too hard, and she was starting to develop a bit of flab in her thighs. Instead of visiting her local gym, she made an appointment with her local plastic surgeon to get a bit of lipo. That too was a success, and she loved her slimmer silhouette.
At 24, she decided it was almost too much to put on eyeliner every morning. Semi-permanent makeup would constantly keep her eyes darkened just the way she liked them. A quick visit to one of the local beauty places fixed that for her.
When she went out with her friends, she knew she was admired by many. She would pose, and strut, and make sure everyone knew just how hot she was. Whenever she saw a mirror, she would pause and ensure her hair and makeup were just perfect. She would then smile her blindingly white smile, and continue on into the club where no doubt many would stare in awe at her gorgeousness. She was amazing looking, and knew it. Many said she needed to become a model, but she would laugh – she just didn’t have the height!
Her weekly schedule often involved a spray tan, a hair appointment, teeth whitening, manicures and pedicures. She barely had enough money left over after she paid her rent and her beauty appointments to eat – but that didn’t matter. She was hot enough, she often had dates that would take her out to dinner and then later for drinks, or dancing.
At 27, her eyes began to show the slightest signs of wrinkling. Her mouth was developing lines from where she smiled too much, and was that a wrinkle in her forehead? Oh no, honey that just wouldn’t do. Botox it was. Her face felt frozen and stiff for a few weeks afterwards, but those pesky little lines weren’t anywhere to be found.
Nearing the age of 30, she knew she would have to use her looks to land her a rich older husband to keep her in the life she was accustomed to… or find an high paying escort job. She didn’t care so much for the money, no… she needed to make sure she still had her looks. She estimated that she spent on average an hour to an hour and a half every day looking in the mirror ensuring everything was perfect. If there was one thing she loved more than anything, it was her own face, gorgeous in its perfection.
At 32 she met Mr Billionaire, who fell immediately for her soft whispers, and her perfect body. A whirlwind romance, and she found herself Mrs Billionaire, with money and servants at her disposal. The money helped – she immediately sought out the world’s top plastic surgeons and had a consultation. Of course, they saw Mrs Billionaire coming and knew they could make a buck – so they told her she needed ‘the works’.
And under the knife she went again. A tummy tuck, more lipo, another augmentation to her breasts, a nose job, sculpting her cheekbones, smoothing fine lines and wrinkles, a facelift – everything you could think of, she had done. She had told them ‘make me perfect!’ and they had certainly done their best.
Sadly, she never came out of the anaesthesia. While she burned in hell for her pride and vanity, Mr Billionaire threw a lavish funeral, open casket of course. After all, she made a beautiful corpse.