The Golden Greenhouse
The glass did not shatter with a sound so much as it exhaled, a long, brittle sigh that scattered a thousand diamonds across the dusty floor of the workshop, each fragment catching the dying October light of 1893 like a trapped star. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the ruin, his forty-two-year-old hands still raised in the frozen gesture of the final blow, the air around him thick with the...
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