The Pale Letter
The jar sat on the high shelf of the pantry, sealed with wax and tied with twine, a small monument to preservation in a house that was slowly rotting from the inside out. Inside the glass, the honeycomb floated in its amber suspension, undisturbed by the years, the seasons, or the slow decay of the world outside. Thomas knew it was there, even in the dark of his nightmares, a bright, sticky eye...
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