The Golden Greenhouse
You are standing in the atrium of the Institution, and the glass is breaking. It does not shatter in the way glass shatters in the waking world, with a sharp, brittle crack and a rain of dangerous shards. Here, in the suspended air of the high Victorian conservatory, the pane liquefies. It turns to a viscous, golden syrup that oozes slowly down the frame, pooling on the flagstones with a sound...
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