The Golden Greenhouse
The molten glass was a vein of liquid gold, trembling in the pipe’s tip, and Elias Thorne’s hands were steady as stone. He was forty years old, and he had not felt this calm in a decade. The vessel taking shape was the Golden Greenhouse, a masterwork of amber and green, intended for the city council’s new hall. It was his pension, his retirement, his quiet exit from the soot-stained life of the...
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