Jealousy? Nonsense. PV:Elena

interaction: @Elena Clark wc: 959 dialogue thoughts
date: 17th September 2025

Don’t get it wrong—Victoria Blythe wasn’t a jealous person. No, not in the slightest. Or at least… she’d never considered herself one. Jealousy was petty, childish, unbecoming. She prided herself on being above such things. She was disciplined, composed, perfectly capable of appreciating other people’s accomplishments without that ugly green feeling creeping in.

At least, that’s what she believed.

So why, then—why was it that whenever the conversation shifted to her, Victoria felt her entire body tense? Why did her chest tighten until breathing felt like a chore? Why, when that name—Elena Clark—slipped past someone’s lips, did she feel the sudden, inexplicable urge to flee the room?

She hated this feeling. This restless, coiled energy simmering just beneath her skin. It made no sense. It wasn’t logical. And yet, every time Victoria’s eyes landed on her… something inside her burned.

Maybe it was the face. That infuriatingly perfect, porcelain face—soft yet striking in all the ways Victoria wasn’t. Or those eyes… those gorgeous blue eyes that always seemed to see through her, as if peeling back every layer she had so carefully built. They held a sharpness cloaked in sweetness, a piercing calm that unsettled her every time their gazes met. And her hair—God, her hair—golden strands catching sunlight like spun silk, framing her like some divine painting. It wasn’t fair. No human should look like that. No girl should be allowed to carry a halo with such ease.

And it wasn’t just the looks. Oh no, it was worse than that. It was the way she moved. That delicate, almost otherworldly grace that made her seem untouchable. Like reality itself bent a little to make space for her. She walked through corridors as though gliding through a dream, and the world—every single person—turned their heads without even realizing why. When she smiled, silver danced in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice carried warmth like honey, soft and effortless.

Victoria hated it. Hated how aware she was of every flicker, every detail.

How could one person be so good at everything? How could she, Elena Clark, make everything seem so… easy? She spoke to people as if there were no walls, no awkward pauses, no fear of judgment. She carried herself with this unshakable composure—never flustered, never caught off guard. Always calm, always collected, like nothing in the world could rattle her.

And in class? Always one step ahead. Her hand shot up before Victoria even processed the question. Her answers—perfect. Her tone—measured. Every word rolled off her tongue like it belonged there. Even in the library, she managed to get her hands on the books Victoria wanted—always a step ahead, always in the way, always winning some silent race Victoria didn’t even remember signing up for.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part? She wasn’t even flawless. She had her own imperfections—dark circles smudged faintly beneath her eyes, a shadow of exhaustion. And yet… somehow, impossibly, it made her even more perfect. How the hell could someone look like that while tired? How could someone wear imperfection like an accessory and make it look intentional?

Victoria bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste metal. She wasn’t jealous. She refused to be. And yet… every time she saw Elena—every time those blue eyes brushed against hers and that serene, knowing smile curved her lips—Victoria felt something twist inside her. Something sharp. Something dangerous.

And she didn’t know which was worse—the anger that came with it, or the terrifying suspicion that beneath all that anger, something else was lurking. Something she couldn’t quite name. Something she didn’t dare to.

Those exact thoughts were swirling in her head as she walked down the corridor. She’d overheard something earlier—apparently, Elena was organizing a book club. A book club. Of course she was. Of course she’d be the one to host something like that, something that sounded so effortlessly charming and intellectual. Why did it have to be her? Why did everything have to be her? And she also heard she became the Ravenclaw Prefect? Perfect, really. She was everything Victoria wasn't, and the Blythe girl was quite sure she was the type of kid her family wanted.

Victoria exhaled sharply, irritation simmering under her skin, when her shoulder collided with someone else’s. She jerked her head up, lips parting to snap out an apology—and froze.

Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, as recognition sank in. Her cold blue eyes widened just slightly in surprise, mirroring her feelings. Elena Clark. The very last person Victoria wanted to see right now. Irony burned in the back of her mind—because the first time they’d met, it had been Elena who walked into her. This time, the tables had turned.

Victoria’s jaw tightened. Her face was a mask, carefully void of any real expression, but the sharp glint in her eyes betrayed the irritation clawing at her insides. “Sorry,” she muttered under her breath, the word so quiet it barely counted, then shot the girl a look that wasn’t quite a glare—but close enough. Without waiting for a response, she stepped to the right, intent on slipping past and putting as much distance as possible between them.

Still, perhaps she shouldn’t have been in such a hurry. The brunette froze as a sharp jolt shot through her ankle, her brows knitting in a silent wince. Earlier that morning, she’d stumbled over a loose stone—an annoying little accident she thought she’d shaken off. But the ache hadn’t gone; it lingered like an unwelcome shadow.

“Sh—” The word died on her tongue as she bit down on her lip, forcing composure. The last thing she wanted was for the girl standing in front of her to catch the flicker of pain in her eyes.

ooc:let me know if you want something to be changed, please.