Wrath doesn’t walk in—she storms.

She's sharp eyeliner and sharper comebacks, dressed in deep crimson and danger. She doesn’t raise her voice—she raises hell.

She’s the last straw. The boiling point. The slap that woke you up. She burns bridges and lights her joints with the flame.

Wrath doesn’t ask twice. She doesn’t need to. One look and the room clears. She’s fury in heels—and you’re lucky if she lets you watch.

Wear her, stick her, frame her—but don’t you dare try to calm her down.

The other Queens?

• Lust thinks she’s being dramatic. She’s not.
• Envy wants her confidence—and her body count.
• Greed tried to tame her once. Never again.