The Golden Greenhouse
The glass pane shatters not with a sound, but with a sensation, a cold, jagged whisper that travels down the arm of your left hand and settles in the marrow of your wrist. You are standing in the center of the greenhouse, a structure of iron and glass that rises from the black earth of the valley like a ribcage of light, and in your right hand, you hold the shard. It is no longer a piece of the...
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