The Golden Greenhouse
The first thing you notice is the sound. It is not a ring, not a chime, but a dry, brittle crack, like the snap of a knuckle, except it comes from inside your own left knee. You are standing in the center of the living room, surrounded by the dust motes that dance in the slant of afternoon light, and you stop moving. You hold your breath. The pain is there, a dull throb, but the sound is worse....
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