The Faded Masquerade

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 18:59:48 -

The fog did not roll in so much as it insisted, a pale, viscous thing that smelled of damp wool and old iron, pressing against the window of the cart with the patience of a creditor. Margaret Holloway, her hands stained green with crushed sage and the dirt of three days’ travel, looked out at the highlands of the Caledonian border where the mist hung low and thick, swallowing the stone walls of...

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