Sleep comes sporadically. I’m barely asleep when the dreams come; visions that haunt me when I wake. Eventually, I always give up and rise with the dawn.
Desperate to purge the visions from my brain, I start to type.
The dreams always seem so real, like a window into Ireland’s past. I have to wonder where they all come from. Sometimes they are so lifelike that I startle awake, sweat dripping from every pore and struggling to catch my breath.
I wish the faerie folk would let me sleep, for just one night, but their tales need to be told.