Black, Pitch Black.

‘Black… Pitch black....’ The voice of a little girl was heard, she was singing.

‘My cat, it’s black…’ The girl dragged her feet across the floor.

‘The night, its pitch black… My hair it’s pitch bla-…’ The girl stopped and touched her lips with her fingertips, she was thinking and after a moment or so, she giggled and began to talk to herself. ‘Silly me, my hair is not pitch black.’ And she began to skip.

‘My hair is black, but also red, red of blood, crimson red…’ She sang happily while skipping through the deserted halls of the mental hospital.



The girl you’ve just read about answered to the name Caoimhe O'Callaghan. No one really knows why, but she scares most people away, or do you know why? You just might, after reading her little song…

I would like to invite you on a exciting, but possibly definetely dangerous journey. Would you still want to join me when I’ve told you the journey we’ll be taken is through Caoimhe’s life and mind?


We’ll find out soon, won’t we?


But beware, Caoimhe was no sweetheart, she isn't one now, nor will she ever be, for her heart is black, pitchblack...


And nothing will ever change that..