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of Vsemiremara

When Bhaddiakar turned a thousand years old, the Authorities built a huge monument in its honor. They were so very proud of their neat idea to celebrate the grandeur of their country that they made huge plans and picked quite a central spot indeed.

But Vsemiremara, in whose heart they built it and who was seven times older, grew jealous and bitter that she had been forgotten, and cursed the monument so that it turned out the ugliest thing ever made by man.

Like an egg gone bad, it was dark and shapeless. Its many sides were of black metallic material meant to resemble marble, and were covered with weird statues and lines of text chosen at random; and in fact, it was hardly certain whether it was really the sides, or the front, or the back - perchance it was even the bottom or top.

Its shape was so twisted, so pointless, and so incomprehensible, that the citizens of Vsemiremara quickly got into the habit of calling it the Fiveangled Sixdicker, and varied the numbers any time they mentioned it. Each day they walked by, they cast scornful glances up at its shapeless silhouette, which they recognized so easily from afar by its complete lack of character.

Its unsightliness features got so famous that it was the topic of small conversation instead of the weather, and for long years people mocked it and regretted its existence. Students wrote about it in their most sarcastic essays, politicians promised to build nothing like it, and optimists excitedly claimed that one day people might believe Bhaddiakarians invented time travel just by looking at the Threeangled Sevendicker.

So hideous it was that, once they could chose for themselves,  the citizens of Vsemiremara let the huge monument fall apart in shame of its own ugliness. They built a wall around it to prevent anyone from going near it by accident, and covered that wall with graffiti so as to liven up its appearance. Thus it was let to rot and disintegrate, and for the longest time in the world the Fourangled Threedicker was left alone.

*   *   *

Years passed, and Vsemiremara began changing. They had been taking much care of her now, fussing all over her, tidying up her attire, painting her face, filling her arms with beautiful things to behold. They'd built a statue of her, with a skin of gold, they'd crowded her vessels, the streets and boulevards, with the blood of their crowds, and talked much about how young she looked for her age. And so, by and by, her heart lightened up and her bitterness was mollified. She felt sorry now for that ugly loner she had condemned, and although she could no longer change what had been done, she thought that, at the very least, she could change its fate a little.

And so it came about that sometimes, in a proper light, in a right mood, while those passing by would still think or say "Oh, how repulsive an abomination!", their hearts would often shyly whisper back: "Remember, remember all the times you've laughed here at its ugliness? Remember how you kissed in its shadow, or joked with your friends, or rejoiced at the sight of the wondrous graffiti?

"Oh, it is beautiful!"

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