Bhí an ghaoth ag séideadh go bog trí dhuilleoga órga an fhómhair agus scáthanna ag damhsa fán gcrann ársa taobh amuigh den ospidéal.

The wind was gently blowing through the golden leaves of autumn, casting shadows that danced around the ancient tree outside the hospital.

Ní raibh anseo ach an críochnáid don tús.

This was just the end of the beginning.

Bhí Aisling, cailín óg le súile geala lán fiosracht, suite ar leaba ghorm sa bharda shíciatrach.

Aisling, a young girl with bright, curious eyes, lay on a blue bed in the psychiatric ward.

Bhí dorchadas sa seomra, ach bhí a hintinn chomh gnóthach le tuile.

The room was dark, yet her mind was as busy as a river in flood.

Bhí aislingí aisteacha aici le déanaí. Rudaí nach raibh sí ábalta míniú a thabhairt orthu.

Recently, she had been experiencing strange dreams, things she couldn't explain.

Bhí eagla uirthi nach raibh an domhan grinn thart uirthi.

She was afraid the sane world around her was crumbling.

Sa bhlainín bán codlata, bhraith sí go raibh rud éigin ag géilleadh — féinmhuinín b’fhéidir.

In her white sleeping gown, she felt something was giving way—perhaps her self-confidence.

Ach bhí cara ann, Cillian an t-altra.

But she had a friend, Cillian the nurse.

Altra aisteach a bhí ann, le cneas ar nós lómhara na gréine.

He was an unusual nurse, with a warmth like the precious rays of the sun.

Nuair a chonaic sé Aisling ag breathnú amach an fhuinneog, chuaigh sé chuici go calma.

When he saw Aisling gazing out the window, he approached her calmly.

"Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú inniu?" a d'fhiafraigh sé, suíochán glactha aige in aice léi.

"How are you today?" he asked, taking a seat next to her.

"Mise... níl a fhios agam," d'fhreagair Aisling go bocht.

"Me... I don't know," Aisling replied weakly.

"Feicim rudaí nach bhfuil ann. Ach, b’fhéidir go bhfuil áit leo?"

"I see things that aren't there. But maybe they belong somewhere?"

Bhí a fhios ag Cillian gur lá speisialta a bhí ann.

Cillian knew it was a special day.

Oíche Shamhna, nuair a bhí an caol idir an dá shaol ag titim.

Halloween, when the veil between the two worlds was thin.

Mhothaigh sé go dtiocfadh tuiscint as rud éigin eile.

He felt that understanding could come from something beyond.

"Tá scéalta ann," thosaigh Cillian go cúramach.

"There are stories," Cillian began carefully.

"Scéalta faoi dhaoine a bhí ann roimhe, lenár mbraith fós... ag súil lenár dtuiscint."

"Stories of those who came before us, still sensing us... hoping for our understanding."

D’fhan Aisling ina tost, faoi ghlas ag theann ar a urlár glé.

Aisling remained silent, captivated by thoughts as deep as a glassy floor.

Tháinig oíche, agus bhog na réaltaí, chomh mín le solas coinnle sa spéir dubh.

Night fell, and the stars moved gently, like candlelight in the dark sky.

Bhí rud éigin ag tarraingt í amach go dtí an crann —— an tseanchrann scéalta.

Something was pulling her out towards the tree — the ancient storytelling tree.

Léim sí amach ar bhosa an aer agus chuaigh Cillian léi.

She leaped into the arms of the air, with Cillian following her.

Bhí áilleacht ag an oíche.

The night was beautiful.

Bhí an talamh aran le duilleoga, agus tháinig Aisling ar an gcrann.

The ground was covered with leaves, and Aisling reached the tree.

Thosaigh sí ag caint.

She began to speak.

"Chonaic mé íomhá," a labhair sí íseal, "bean le fáinní óir... mo shinsir, sílim."

"I saw an image," she said softly, "a woman with golden rings... my ancestor, I think."

D’inis sí do Chillian.

She confided in Cillian.

Ansin, dúirt Cillian, "B'fhéidir nach bhfuil do fhísí ina bhfuil eagla. Féadfaidh siad a bheith ina bealach."

Then Cillian said, "Maybe your visions aren't something to fear. They might be a path."

Le scéal an tsean-scéalta á n-atheagrú i gclós an ospidéil, fuair Aisling amach an nasc.

As the story of the ancient tales was reimagined in the hospital yard, Aisling discovered the connection.

Ní raibh sí ag cailleadh aithne ar a réaltacht, ach ag fáil a cuid oidhreachta.

She wasn't losing touch with reality but gaining her heritage.

Léirigh sí bród as sin.

She showed pride in that.

B'fhéidir gur cumhachtaí iad na físí — ní mar a cheap sí ar dtús.

Perhaps her visions were powerful—not as she had initially thought.

Ceanglaíonn Cillian í do na dochtúirí, ach le solas nua.

Cillian connected her with the doctors, but with new insight.

Léiríonn sé léirthuiscint ar a próiseas.

He illustrated an understanding of her process.

Agus le gluaiseacht na réaltaí, d'fhág Aisling an barda, a croí lán muiníne agus aiste ar aghaidh.

And with the movement of the stars, Aisling left the ward, her heart full of confidence and adventure ahead.

Naomhshláinte marbhán Shamhna, rinneadh ordú an tinnis ina bhrionglóid.

The sacred health of Samhain dispelled the illness into a dream.

Bhí an gaol acu leis an bhfíorscéal.

Their relationship to the real story was evident.

Bhí sí síneadh amach, faoi bharántúlacht an chaife.

She stretched out under the authenticity of the sky.

Bhí sé éasca fos.

It was simple still.

Bhí an chríoch, ag glacadh múnlú nua, lán de ghrá idir nádúr agus anam.

The ending, taking on a new shape, was full of love between nature and soul.

Soineantacht na hóige agus crannscéal na síoraíochta... ag damhsa le chéile, ar nós fhíodóireachta creatha bríomhar an aoibhneas.

The innocence of youth and the fairytale of eternity... dancing together, like the vibrant weaving of joy.