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... are with all the enthusiasm of a wet napkin. Grace stood in the center, watching villagers attempt to hang colorful banners between buildings. The banners kept sliding down, pooling on the ground in sad little piles before they’d pick them back up and try again without a single change on their faces.
"Higher on the left," Zephyr called out, arms crossed as she supervised. "No, your other left. That’s still right. How do you not know your own left?"
The villager, a middle-aged man ...
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