https://t.co/Fm4ZsxiHSG

⠀⠀ — seeming to follow even the absence of movement. At the far end of the hall, the grandfather clock marked the passage of time with grave certainty. Tick. Tick. Tick. ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Now, the house suspended in a peculiar stillness. The long corridors stretched into shadow, broken only by the low glow of wall sconces that cast warm but insufficient light. Portraits of Past Byrnes watched from the frames — faces stern, their painted eyes — ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ The wine glasses were cleared away, chairs restored to their proper places, and the murmur of polite conversation had dwindled into softer exchanges before fading altogether. One by one, doors along the upper corridors were closed. Lights were almost faded. ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ The Byrne estate seemed, rather, to hold its breath after nightfall, as though its very walls were burdened with memories too weighty to permit rest. And dinner … had ended hours ago. ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. Indeed, it never had — not in the ordinary fashion of other dwellings, where darkness descends and lulls all things into quiet repose. ⠀⠀

Sláinte, Jules! 🍻

⠀⠀ ────── ⠀⠀

https://t.co/X95Gr8E12m

https://t.co/dMIiu8K0Fz

⠀⠀ ────── ⠀⠀

@luxeaterna ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ────── ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ “She has taken it upon herself to play the matriarch, now that Granny’s gone,” Juliette scoffed. ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ “Father Matthew is about to begin,” she announced. “You two had best take your seats.” “Second row, just behind your father, if you please,” she paused only to add it. And with that, she was gone again, moving swiftly to usher the others into place. ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Before she could speak again, a voice broke in upon them. “Oh! There you are!” Aunt Bridget appeared as though from nowhere, her presence sudden and brisk enough to scatter the last traces of their quiet exchange. ⠀⠀

https://t.co/ng0qbGSWH9

https://t.co/OsZdNNQqNe

Water Lilies — Willem Wenckebach, c. 1893

⠀⠀ And what did you see? ⠀⠀

⠀⠀ Happy St. Patrick’s day!! May your blessings be more than the shamrocks that grow. 𝘚𝘭𝑎́𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦.ᐟ 🍀☺️ ⠀⠀