The Distant Clue
You wake with the taste of copper and old sugar on your tongue, a phantom sweetness that clings to the back of your throat like a stubborn hymn. In the dream, you were holding a jar of honey, thick and amber, glowing with an internal light that seemed to pulse in time with your own failing heart. You remember the weight of it, the heavy, viscous drag of the glass, and you remember your mother’s...
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