The Golden Greenhouse
Three hundred and twelve panes. That was the count when I began, laid out in rows of twelve on the stone floor of the imperial workshop, each one cold to the touch, waiting to be heated into shape. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and my hands have not stopped shaking since the autumn of 1914. I was to finish the Golden Greenhouse for the Empress by the first frost, a commission that...
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