She wants it all. And she’ll take yours too.

Stacks on stacks. Emerald smoke. Green glitter and zero shame. Greed doesn’t wait her turn—she takes the whole damn spotlight. She’s drip in vinyl and hustle in heels, the reason your stash and your savings are both running low.

She doesn’t carry cash—she breathes it. Every puff is profit. Every look says “buy me something.” Greed isn’t expensive. She’s essential. And if you flinch at the price, you were never her type.

Greed doesn’t ask—she invoices. You can smell her money from across the room, and feel the loss before you even say yes.

She’s the flex. The fantasy. The one who taxes your soul and tips herself. Wear her, stick her, frame her—but don’t expect a refund.

The other Queens?

• Gluttony snacks when she’s nervous around her.
• Envy counts every dollar she doesn’t have.
• Pride still claims she’d never sell out. She’s lying.