The Golden Greenhouse

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2026-08-18 03:29:36 -

I dreamt of the kiln again, the heat pressing against the back of my eyelids like a physical weight, and in the dream the clay was not clay but a soft, yielding flesh that whispered of things I had not yet spoken aloud. It is a strange affliction to be a master of ceramics in a town that views art as a frivolous indulgence, a vice for those who cannot manage the harder currencies of trade and...

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