The stage lights were blinding, but they couldn’t outshine the illusions I was living. In those days, I was Vanity—a name Prince whispered like a prophecy. He said I was the woman he saw when he looked in the mirror, a reflection of his most provocative dreams. Together, we created music that made people blush and dance, but behind the glitz and glitter was a soul quietly suffocating.

Prince called me his muse, and for a time, I believed him. We burned bright, creating songs that would echo for decades, but the fire wasn’t just on stage—it was inside me, too, consuming every ounce of who I was. Drugs became my escape, a numbing agent for the pain I couldn’t name, and fame only deepened the cracks in my spirit.

But even in my darkest moments, Jesus never stopped calling. His voice was soft at first, barely audible over the chaos of my life, but it grew louder as I fell deeper. The day I finally answered, I wasn’t Vanity anymore—I was Denise, stripped bare and redeemed. It was like stepping into the light for the first time, seeing myself as God intended: not a reflection of someone else but a creation of His own making.

I lived more lives than most—singer, muse, addict, disciple. And while the world may remember me as Vanity, I left this earth as Denise, a woman saved by grace, ready to meet her Creator.

“I was dying, and He saved me. That’s the truth of it. That’s the miracle of it.”

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