The Golden Greenhouse
The dream is always the same. You stand before a wall of glass, not the clear, clean glass of a shop window, but the thick, amber-tinted panes of the Golden Greenhouse. The light behind it is a heavy, liquid gold. You reach out. Your hand does not touch the surface; it passes through. The glass shatters, but there is no sound. The shards do not fall to the floor. They turn into leaves, broad...
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