The Spirit at Her Door
—from the Threshold Scrolls of Dea Daemon I walked into her house, but it was never built for me. The spirit at the door smelled truth— and truth unsettles those who live by illusion. It did not howl. It did not warn. It watched. And waited. Like stone remembering blood. It reached to remind me: “Not all spaces deserve your presence.” But I stood. I saw. I did not fall. They didn’t see it— because they weren’t meant to. They dressed their doubt in disbelief. But the veil parts only for the awakened. Let them deny it. Let them cast their blind spells. You carry sight, and that is enough to banish what feeds in shadows.
