The Golden Greenhouse
The frost had taken the glass before the dawn did. That was the first thing I noticed, the way the shards hung suspended in the air, not falling, but waiting. I stood in the doorway of the barn, my breath a white plume in the biting chill, and watched the ruin. It was a greenhouse, once. A cathedral of light and leaf, now a skeleton of rusted iron and shattered crystal. I had spent three years...
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