The Golden Greenhouse
The centrifuge spun with a low, persistent hum that vibrated through the soles of my shoes and into the marrow of my tibia, a rhythmic thumping that matched the erratic, accelerating flutter of my own heart as I watched the amber fluid separate into its distinct, layered components, the heavy precipitate sinking like sediment in a stagnant pond while the lighter serum floated above, a perfect,...
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