The Golden Greenhouse
Act I Jelena Dimitrov was twelve years old and her hands smelled of lye and old sweat. She stood in the temple courtyard, watching the dovecote coo in the January thaw, the air wet and heavy with the scent of wet stone and rotting straw. Her father, the Abbot, sat in the scullery with a stone trough full of black water, his face turned away from her. He had forbidden her from the Golden...
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