The Golden Greenhouse
The glass breaks first. You hear it. A sharp crack. Like a bone snapping under ice. You are in the cellar. The air is thick. It tastes of dust and rot. And old, wet stone. You hold the lantern. The light is small. It flickers. It dies. You are the Inquisitor. Your name is Thomas. You do not speak. You do not need to. Your silence is the law. The village fears you. They say you are cold. They...
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