Fear gripped Inteachán tight like a brand new skin.
And as the enormity of her predicament threatened to wrench her free from the precarious perch of her sanity Inteachán began to cry.
Salty great tears fell from her eyes and kept falling downwards. Tears of fear and solitude. Desperation. Realisation. Responsibility. No nine year-old should be in such a terrible position.
‘What have I done to deserve this?’ whimpered Inteachán.
‘Why is it my fault that the world needs saving?’
And with the nothing of the darkness as her only answer Inteachán despaired.
— Barnaby Taylor (@BTDublin2012) September 13, 2015