Some say the darkest sin is loud — harmful, uncontrollable.

But apathy is quiet. It has clean hands.

It doesn’t scream; it sighs and turns away.

It doesn’t lash out like wrath or consume like greed — it watches, still and silent, as others suffer. It’s hearing a cruel joke in a meeting and laughing because silence is easier.

Apathy starts as protection — a breath, a boundary — but left unchecked, it devours.

It won’t kill you like the others; it lets you rot quietly from the inside out.

Not always evil, no — but when that boundary becomes a wall, and the wall a fortress, humanity fades.

It isn’t wrathful. It’s worse.

It’s comfortable.