The Golden Greenhouse
The jar was green, a deep and verdant emerald that seemed to drink the light from the window rather than reflect it, and it sat upon the table between us like a silent, verdant eye that had seen too much and now intended to say nothing at all. I held the glass in my hands, feeling the cold weight of the liquid within, which was not water, nor wine, nor any substance that the apothecary in the...
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