Comhroinn Fuaime

Not the kind that comes with the cold or disappears with the sun. This one moved slowly, gently, almost like it was alive. At first, no one was afraid. It seemed harmless… quiet… almost peaceful. Until people began to forget. It started with small things, like where they kept their tools. Then it…

Not the kind that comes with the cold or disappears with the sun. This one moved slowly, gently, almost like it was alive. At first, no one was afraid. It seemed harmless… quiet… almost peaceful. Until people began to forget. It started with small things, like where they kept their tools. Then it grew into bigger things, like their own names. Soon, mothers began to look at their children with confusion. Friends became strangers. And the drums… the drums stopped speaking.