The Golden Greenhouse
The glass shatters. Not with a crash, but with a sigh. You stand in the center of the room. The floor is cold. The air smells of ozone and old paper. You are a soldier. You have always been a soldier. Your uniform is pressed. Your boots are polished. But your hands are trembling. Look at the door. It is locked. From the inside. You know this. You have always known this. But you knock anyway....
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