The Golden Greenhouse
You keep your hand in the jar. It is warm. It is sticky. You do not look. You know what is there. The flesh. The red, wet thing that was once yours. You keep it in the glass. You keep it safe. The room is small. The walls are damp. The air smells of rot and lavender. Who is that? I am Maud. No. You are Maud. Listen. The jar is on the table. The table is wood. The wood is old. The wood is...
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