The Wistful Mountain
The honey never crystallized. It remained a liquid, viscous gold, suspended in the amber jars that lined the high, vaulted walls of the palace of King Aethelgard, a kingdom that existed in the liminal space between the waking world and the deep, dreaming dark. You were the Keeper of the Sweetness, a role that sounded, in the beginning, like a title of honor, a position of intimacy with the most...
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