The Golden Quest
The rain in the Scottish Highlands did not fall so much as it settled, a persistent, grey mist that clung to the wool of the tweed coats and seeped into the marrow of the bones, turning the ancient moor into a landscape of damp silence and bruised heather. It was in this atmosphere of suspended time, where the boundary between the visible world and the spectral one grew thin as parchment, that...
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