The Golden Greenhouse
The ink on the deed is still wet when you sign your name, the nib scratching a final, jagged line across the parchment. It is a heavy document, thick with the bureaucratic weight of ownership, listing the assets of the village greenhouse: three acres of glass, a heating system of cast-iron pipes, and the deed itself, dated by a clerk whose handwriting trembles with the cold. You are Elias Vane,...
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