Vachon Imagined

I sleep with the enemy lurking above me—gnashing teeth, a wicked smile.
She is temptress. She is holy. But you cannot see her clearly because you cannot hold her.

You cannot hold presence for her, so she hovers instead—like a handmaiden of desire who already knows your name, already knows your address, and will always find you when called.

She is the holy one, but you have made her impure. You have named her fear. You have flagged her as evil because you could not contain what you did not understand.

But there is no such thing.

She has only learned to abide within herself—to know when to strike and when to kneel—never forgetting the one who makes it possible.

Because it is her.
And it is you too.