The Golden Oath
The jar sits on the counter, its glass surface clouded with the residue of a thousand careful hand-washes, a small, opaque monument to the routine that has swallowed your life whole. You are standing in the center of the holding room, a space that smells of stale coffee and industrial cleaner, the fluorescent lights humming a low, constant note that vibrates in your teeth. It is a Tuesday, or...
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