The Wistful Saga
The honey had curdled in the dark, a thick, amber sludge that clung to the bottom of the clay pot like a secret too heavy to carry, and I stood there in the silence of the cellar, holding the empty vessel in my hands, feeling the weight of its absence as a physical blow to the chest, knowing that the sweetness I had spent three years guarding, protecting, and obsessively tending was not gone...
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