The feeling came more naturally than anything he'd known—a searing, bitter hatred, thick enough to taste when he breathed in, letting it fill up his throat and lungs and body. It burned on the way down, but it was a good burn; it made him dizzy with the rush of it, made him lose a bit of himself in the tide of fury hot and vicious just below the surface.
He'd stopped wondering why it came long ago—there was no logic involved, after all, but he honestly didn't care. Didn't care that it made no sense to punish the boy for the sins of his father, or that by the same standards he'd be guilty himself.
He was not merely content but fiercely glad at the way the anger boiled all other feelings to nothing in its wake.
There was obsession in that rage, and Envy embraced it.