The Golden Downtown
The vial was warm against Elara Vane’s palm, the glass sweating with the condensation of its own volatile nature. She uncorked it and held it to her father’s lips, watching the dark, viscous liquid pool on his cracked tongue. Arthur Vane did not swallow at first; he stared at her with eyes that had lost their focus weeks ago, eyes that saw through her rather than at her. "It tastes like gold,"...
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