The Golden Greenhouse

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 23:52:19 -

The glass was cold. It always was. I stood in the center of the greenhouse, my fingers wrapped around a pruning shear that had not cut anything in three days. The air smelled of wet earth and rot, a heavy, sweet scent that clung to the back of my throat. Outside, the rain lashed against the panes, blurring the world into a grey smear. Inside, the plants were dying. Not withering, not slowly...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews