The Golden Ritual
The jar was cracked. A hairline fracture ran through the glass, a white vein in the amber contents. You held it with both hands, your fingers numb from the cold stone of the floor. The scent was sharp. It smelled of winter. It smelled of preserved time. "Is it broken?" the boy asked. He stood in the doorway. His tunic was too large for his frame. His eyes were wide, dark, and unblinking. "No,"...
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