The Golden Cellar
The jar sat on the table. It was full. It was always full. Hale stared at it. The glass was thick. The honey inside was dark, viscous, unmoving. It looked like old blood. It looked like time. He reached for it. His hand trembled. Not from cold. From age. The bones in his wrists clicked. A dry, rattling sound. Like gravel in a tin can. He opened the jar. The smell hit him. Sweet. Heavy....
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