Comhroinn Fuaime

Night has a strange honesty. When the streets empty, when the screens go dark, when even the noise inside your head begins to fade, the night asks questions. Not gentle ones. Real ones. Questions that don’t care about reputation, or followers, or applause. The night asks: What kind of man are…

Night has a strange honesty. When the streets empty, when the screens go dark, when even the noise inside your head begins to fade, the night asks questions. Not gentle ones. Real ones. Questions that don’t care about reputation, or followers, or applause. The night asks: What kind of man are you becoming? Because the world will offer you thousands of masks. Masks of success. Masks of pleasure. Masks of power. And people will tell you to wear them proudly. But the soul knows. The soul