Aoife did not think of sex like a normal person, nor did she consider relationships as one ought to. After selling tricks for tin on the street some years back, Aoife had become unattached to the order of fucking and treated it more like scratching an itch, or a means to an end. If Eoin shuddered at ...

Truth be told, Aoife O’Kelly had had a breakthrough. What? You may ask? Had she managed to glean a new pair of shoes to keep her feet safe? Or had she managed to scratch her scalp clean of unworthy and troublesome nits? No. She had managed to cook herself a handful of meat pies! Yes, you heard that ...

Aoife’s mother came from a gaggle of girls who all worked the Dublin streets in both the light of the moon and the glow of the day, her cousins came and went in waves — nameless ghosts who flickered and dissolved into the crowd as quickly as they had arrived. How many had there been? Then, if one ...

She couldn’t have deciphered why Eoin had reacted so damn strangely to the bread, but as soon as she had asked she had found her attention waning, her fleeting nature cast along the alley as her fingers fell from his hair — snapping her wrist away as to loosen his own grasp made around her. Aoife ...

Aoife liked the name if only because it made her seem sharper, or more akin to a character told to children when a parent yearned to keep them from harm — though she was not the kind of person who knew anything of the world outside of the norm she kept to, Aoife liked the idea of becoming a figment ...

Aoife came to a slow halt as Eoin joined her in the crowd of constantly moving subjects, pressing her back into him as their steps took to a similar timing and matched rhythm. Pulling her body back to look at him, Aoife pulled a piece away from the roll she held in one hand, and reached up to stuff ...

Despite her extravagance that came and went with her undebatable enthusiasm for a job well done, Aoife could be quiet when she wished, sliding one way and then another she snaked away from the brute — dipping between bodies that hugged the pavement, all of them eager for food before they started ...

The idea of caring for him and the treatment offered to him by the hand of his English superiors didn’t provoke Aoife’s thoughts or worries, all that came to mind were the troubles that she had been born into. The daughter of a Dubliner prostitute with keen sympathies for the IRB and a member of ...

Aoife looked at the exposed hammer with a wet mouth and wanting eyes, it was a fine thing that looked heavy enough to do a decent amount of damage to unsuspecting folk — but it couldn’t have been as quick or slick as her dead Badb, named for the Irish Goddess of war. And then, as soon as her ...

Aoife was not ogling him, or so that was what she believed. The truth was more to the point that Aoife was never, at any moment, quite sure of what she wanted or how she felt. Eoin was, perhaps, simply a figure of confusion and complexities to a girl who had never been taught how to manage an inch ...