The Golden Oath
The smell of burnt sugar hung in the air of the Millhaven Community Center, a cloying, heavy perfume that seemed to stick to the back of the throat. It was the annual Harvest Gala, a spectacle of plastic streamers and lukewarm punch, where the town’s collective anxiety was usually soothed by the promise of continuity. In the center of this swirling, artificial warmth stood Elias Thorne, a man...
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