The Golden Visit
The jar cracked before the sun had fully risen. It was a sound like a bone snapping under a boot, sharp and final. I stood in the kitchen, my hands still wrapped around the ceramic, feeling the jagged edge cut into my palm. Blood seeped through the lace of my apron, hot and metallic. The contents spilled across the linoleum. Not honey. Not syrup. A thick, viscous sludge, the color of dried...
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