The Golden Greenhouse
The sign above the door read: *Verity & Sons, Fine Glasswork & Etchings*. It was a lie, mostly. There were no sons. There was only you, Thomas Bradshaw, and the glass. The glass was cold to the touch, a pale, milky green that seemed to hold the light without letting it in. You were holding the final piece. It was a small, intricate seal, cut from a single sheet of silex, bearing the crest of...
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