Poisoned Wine

Long ago, our family fled the Nazis for America.
Generations later, we flew back to see what had become of the old country.
Our vineyard was still a vineyard.
Run by another family from the village.
Who claimed to have run the vineyard for centuries.
They had taken our name. And taken our land.
We bought a bottle from them, uncorked it, and poured it at their feet.
The finest wine is poisoned with a single drop of arsenic.
Once tainted, you cannot filter it back out.
Or sufficiently dilute it with all the tears in the world.
Forever ruined.

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