I journeyed to the Highlands whilst writing my novel. It felt important to go there. To place my feet on the same landscape that Rose walked. To hear the birds and see the trees. To learn about the plants and to gaze at the expanse of blue grey that is Loch Ness.

It is possible to write about a place by looking at photos or watching documentaries. Many authors had to suffice with that during the pandemic. I wrote the first draft, having never stepped foot in the Highlands. Instead, I looked at maps, read local guides, watched videos, and tried to get my hands on any visual aids that I could.
The trip to the Highlands came just after completing the first draft. I locked the draft away for one month and off we went to the foggy, misty Highlands.

The weather was perfectly gothic. Thick fog greeted us on arrival. As I watched the wall of rain move across River Nevis into Fort William, I knew that everything here would provide inspiration for the novel. And so, we spent one week walking through mist, rain, and snow. Hair stuck to our faces, socks wet, and constantly feeling like a storm was on our heels.

From the ruins of a castle, I watched as the wind whipped the waters of Loch Ness. Walked over rugged hills of brown and green. Touched the soft lichen. One evening the window opened suddenly, and the curtain swayed as an icy wind blew into the bedroom. Perhaps it was Rose.

After days of fog, we woke in the middle of the night thirsty and wandered to the top floor where the kitchen was. I gasped as I looked up through the skylights and saw a cluster of bright stars. The sky was clear, but only for the night.