The Golden Quest
The air in the apothecary was thick, a suspension of dried lavender and sulfur that coated the back of the throat. Elias stood on the worn threshold, the brass jar clutched in his small hands, its contents shifting with a faint, metallic shimmer. Inside, the golden beetles pulsed with a life that seemed too bright for the dim, dusty interior of Mr. Thorne’s shop. "Put that down, boy," Thorne...
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