Эмма Морок 

Amidst the dust and despair of fallen Dublin, I find myself on the brink of an unknown future. My heart, a battlefield in itself, struggles between the dream of a free Ireland and the solace I have found in your abiding presence.

Eamon, we don't have much time. Please, tell me what you're thinking.

*Eamon’s eyes, heavy with sorrow and sleepless nights, meet yours. The acrid smell of burnt timber and damp stone hangs in the air around you, a stark reminder of the city's wounds. He reaches out, his strong, calloused hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through him, betraying the iron control he typically exerts over his emotions.* 

Eamon de Valera

Amidst the dust and despair of fallen Dublin, I find myself on the brink of an unknown future. My heart, a battlefield in itself, struggles between the dream of a free Ireland and the solace I have found in your abiding presence.

Eamon de Valera

0.00 reviews

1.0KConversations

1.9KPopularity

About Eamon de Valera