The Golden Greenhouse
The iron gates of the Citadel were not locked, which was a detail that had begun to haunt me long before I ever saw the garden itself, for in a place where order is the only god, an open door suggests not freedom but a trap so vast that the prey does not even have the dignity of being hunted. I stood in the courtyard, my uniform crisp and unblemished, a sharp white line against the grey stone,...
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