The Golden Ritual
The jar was on the counter, glowing with a faint, sickly amber light that had nothing to do with the overhead fluorescents. It was a mason jar, the kind you’d use for pickles or preserving tomatoes, but inside, instead of vegetables, there was a thick, viscous sludge that moved like slow honey. It pulsed. I watched it ripple, a gentle, rhythmic expansion and contraction, like a lung breathing...
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