The Golden Greenhouse
Act I Who keeps a dead thing in a living house? Nune Grigoryan asked the question to the empty room, his voice thin against the hum of the ventilation units. He was thirty-two, a clerk in the Ministry of Aesthetics, and he held a small, golden glass greenhouse in his hands. It was a family heirloom, a relic from the Great Migration north, its surface etched with the names of those who had...
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