The Golden Greenhouse
The chandelier in the dining room of Vane House swayed gently, a pendulum of crystal and brass that marked the time with a rhythmic, clinking precision. It was November, 1912, and the air inside the manor was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, beeswax, and the sharp, metallic tang of ambition. Elias Vane stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his hands resting on the polished...
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