The Golden Greenhouse

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2026-08-18 19:49:36 -

The air in the Hall of Echoes tasted of iron and old dust. I sat on the cold stone floor, my back against the pillar. My fingers were stained green. It was a deep, arterial green. It lived under my nails. It seeped into the whorls of my skin. I could not wash it out. I looked at my hands. They were not my hands. They were the hands of a woman who had died in a greenhouse three centuries ago....

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