The Róisín Dubh
… Her hands tremble as she wraps the cape tighter around herself. A soft crinkle sounds. She finds a small lump inside a hidden pocket. She pulls out a small, yellowed folded piece of parchment… click the link to purchase!
… Her hands tremble as she wraps the cape tighter around herself. A soft crinkle sounds. She finds a small lump inside a hidden pocket. She pulls out a small, yellowed folded piece of parchment… click the link to purchase!
… Her hands tremble as she wraps the cape tighter around herself. A soft crinkle sounds. She finds a small lump inside a hidden pocket. She pulls out a small, yellowed folded piece of parchment… click the link to purchase!
Moments later, her whisper rings within the quiet like a poet on stage.
Mo Dearest,
Ye captured mo heart
to start.
Me` will na` go
until me` know,
sidh is mise
a keep.
Muid has na` met
ach it is set
mo powers
ye will keep.
For ye r of mo blood
n sin e` all mo rosbud.
As the last syllable of the poem leaves her lips—the parchment crumbles, disappearing between her fingertips.
