The Golden Greenhouse
The vial cracked when I said I wanted to save him, and the glass dusted my thumb with red. I am Elias, a man of forty years, and I have spent the last decade in the cellar of the Abbey of St. Jude, grinding minerals until my knuckles swelled and my vision blurred. I am not a scholar of the mind, but of the substance; I deal in lead and mercury, in the weight of things that do not move. My...
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