The beatings got worse when one particular night and on one extremely rare occasion they made their way to the nearby village for an outing.

Beircheart was particularly proud to show Inanna off and for a fleeting moment Inanna could forget her worries and enjoy herself.

She absolutely adored music and loved dancing even more.

When she danced she could feel her life force. She felt carefree and wild and let herself go completely – it was her happy place.

She couldn’t remember the last time she danced, she thinks it was under the light of the full moon with Eamon.

The beat of the Gaelic drums were making their way through her body, she moved in time with the music effortlessly and gracefully. When she danced people noticed her – there was freedom of expression in her movement, her heart was open and her happiness radiated with each step she made. When she danced her playful personality shone through. She was expressive and at times flirtatious.

She was never short of a dance partner and Beircheart noticed.

Far from enjoying the night, his mood was growing wilder with every beat of his Bodhrán, his jealousy and possessiveness growing deep and dark inside him.

Beircheart’s jealousy was more a reflection of his inability to trust Inanna and it spoke volumes about his self-worth and when they got home the beatings were relentless, he let his fists do all the talking, the rage in his eyes terrifying.

Her decline started immediately after this beating, she knew this time she was close to death.

She couldn’t understand that someone would beat the life out of her when she was merely expressing herself – being herself.

Was she that bad?

She began to believe she was. She was so weak now, that Beircheart started looking elsewhere to exert his masculine prowess.

She was thankful to the Universe for this tiny blessing.

Having intercourse with Inanna had indeed lost its pleasure. He had damaged her, she thought, irreparably.

He would bring different women home night after night.

They would jeer and snigger at Inanna, he would spit on her occasionally, right in her face, just to let her know of his contempt for her.

He could not care less whether she lived or died but preferred it was the latter, as did she.

She grew weaker and weaker with each passing day. He didn’t allow her to eat or drink and now she just lay on the cold hard ground where she fell.

Farmer Micheál continued to drive by the stone house – it seemed lifeless. He would stay out the front until he saw movement inside – he too was terrified of Beircheart and knew he was no match for his strength. He was worried sick as the weather had turned. There was a cold wind that whipped through the fields, the rain lashed the country and he knew this winter was going to be long and harsh.

On day three he could stand it no longer.