The Golden Greenhouse
The dress was not merely a garment but a heavy, suffocating architecture of emerald silk that smelled of wet loam and old copper, and I wore it because I had no other choice, because the air in the glasshouse was too thick to breathe without the fabric acting as a filter, a barrier against the spores that drifted down from the vaulted ceiling like green snow, and I stood there, trembling, while...
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