There is a moth in the bathroom like I had never seen before, so large almost as big as a bird banging itself against the light. It's not the moon or the sun I tell it. You're looking at a fake. It takes some courage to catch him. I try to ease him out with some paper but he won’t go, he wants instead to be caught and taken away with force. I take the opportunity to look at him in the glass I place over him. He flutters around as graceful as a butterfly but still not quite as beautiful. His big body tells me he's a stronger kind of insect. It is our second meeting actually. I'd seen him flittering in the night before through the window. It had been dark so I thought I'd imagined him. He was a shadow amongst the shadows, an imagined monster where there was nothing. On his release from the glass his frantic bid for freedom leaves him returning again to the light. I hear the pop pop of his body bumping against it. Tired, I turn off the light and go back to bed. In the morning he is still there, on his back motionless on the bathroom floor. ‘I’m sorry’ I tell him. His body gives one last flutter as I pick him up. Some liquid escapes him. It’s funny but I feel as though I’ve seen his little soul leaving me. ‘Goodbye’ I say to my monster in the night knowing that I too had been a monster, a monster in the light.
The fatal flower is the perverted shy girl, the one you wouldn’t suspect. Under a soft exterior lies a complex being with an unyielding wildness, anchored to the earth by her humble nature and inexplicable dry humour. She is the femme of now, the modern woman who’s thoughts transcend through cultures and time.
Over the coming months let ‘La Fleur Fatale’ be your guide to the hidden insights and stories of a watchful woman’s eye navigating through the ‘European’ way of life. Struggles and mishaps ensue as life is embraced and the thorny introvert femme clammers for life’s answers. All possible subjects are covered from death to Kim Kardashian and from sisterhood to the perfect strawberry frappe.