The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-20 14:59:43 -

The air in the greenhouse did not smell of soil or damp earth, as one might expect from a place designed to cultivate life, but rather of ozone and old electricity, a static charge that made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end and prickled against the skin like a thousand tiny, invisible needles. I sat on the polished concrete floor, my knees drawn up to my chest, watching the bioluminescent...

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