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Emotion 365: The Land of Wronged, the Capitol Infuriated

In the highlands, sharp rock faces adorn steep cliffs. Winds blow golden grasses on the bluffs. From above, looking down on wave sharp seas hungry ghosts howl into empty air. Moaning travelers walk the bluffs and fail to intervene. They trace the patterns, the white streaks through the slate with their fingers. The many-layered stone goes underground. Ghosts and wanderers see only the peaks. Rabbit colonies live beside the rocks. Moorish hawks spear them with their talons and carry them up into the looming grey sky. Anyone may come to Wronged, but everyone lives underground or wanders on.

On the steep Wronged cliff sits the cathedral Infuriated with gothic arches, with a steel paneled door, and thick stained glass windows. It's spire spears the grey sky like the Wronged Hawks pierce the Wronged rabbits. grey sky.

Wronged petitioners sit in hard pews preached at by winged men with curved beaks. The Priests of Infuriated make beer and wine and store it in casks in the cathedral cellar. They sleep in cells below the cathedral. Petitioners may spend the night, but they are encouraged to move on.

“Don’t join our ranks,” the priests say.

They serve famous Infuriated feasts: heavily spiced with thick sauces accompanied by steins of frothy ale.

"We were suitably mollified," says Miss Emeline Traveler.

After dinner they chanted and sang.

"I learned to make stained glass. See now my windows, the light," says Miss Doe Friend.

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