The Golden Greenhouse
The ink on the seal is still wet, a slick, viscous black that smells of iron and old blood, and you are holding the deed to the house in your trembling hands while the rain hammers against the stained glass of the conservatory. The structure is a marvel of Victorian engineering, a cathedral of iron ribs and leaded glass that once housed the estate’s prize orchids, but now it is a tomb for your...
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