The Distant Affair
The smell of burnt caramel was the first thing I noticed, sharp and sweet, hanging in the sterile air of the processing room like a ghost. I stood before the industrial mixer, the stainless steel drum still spinning, reducing a batch of vanilla extract into a thick, dark sludge. The hum of the motor was a low thrum in my teeth, a constant, vibrating reminder of the machinery that defined my...
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