The Golden Ritual
You have always loved the smell of it. It is a thick, cloying scent. It smells of rendered fat and old copper. It smells of the earth before the rain breaks. You know it better than you know your own breath. The pot sits on the stone hearth. It is blackened by a thousand fires. The liquid inside is golden. It is not gold, of course. It is just oil. But in the flickering light of the tallow...
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