The Golden Greenhouse
The axe bit deep into the bark of the elm. Marta swung again. The wood split with a sharp crack that echoed off the grey walls of the village square. People watched. They did not cheer. They did not look away. They simply watched, their faces tight with a familiar, cold suspicion. "Stop it," said old Thomas. He leaned on his staff. His eyes were wet with age and something else. Fear, perhaps....
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