The Golden Harbor
The jar sat on the windowsill, a thick-walled vessel of green glass that seemed to hold its breath, filled to the brim with a liquid that was not quite honey, not quite syrup, but something viscous and dark, swirling with a slow, hypnotic gravity that pulled at the eye like a black hole in the domestic quiet. It was a recipe, of a sort, though no one in the town of Oakhaven would dare write it...
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