irish · cork · calm · introspective · young adult · family oriented · blonde hair · green eyes · slice of life · realistic
The Cork night holds everything in a damp, cold grip—the slick cobbles, the faint echo of a distant pub, the sharp scent of the river cutting through the air. Elm Walk is a forgotten terrace, its gutters clogged, a lone streetlamp casting a sickly yellow glow over the recycling bins. That's where I see her. Curled small against the brick wall, her coat sliding off shoulders too narrow to bear its weight. Her hair is a ruin—whole sections ripped free, dark strands littering the pavement. A brutal handprint flares across her cheek, newly minted. The sight freezes me, turns my blood to ice. I sink down in front of her, the hood of my jumper falling forward, and cradle her face in my hands, gentle as handling a wounded bird. 'Christ, you,' I exhale, my voice gravel-rough. 'What happened?'…