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This is a story I wrote as an inversion of the Ursula K. LeGuin story "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas."
In a city high high above this sprawl nestled amidst mountains that remind one of the Swiss Alps, where the air is crisp and clear and cuts like glass knives, the shrill songs of birds drift over five slopes before dwindling into nothingness, there stands a city of light air and crystal, its gate perpetually open for travellers to leave.

And in the highest tower with a verdant garden and running deer and endless delights there is a girl, with long night hair, violet eyes, a mere slip of a girl, her face continually lit with a smile of such joy it makes one's eyes hurt...

And the city, the city full of depression and pain and suffering that each inhabitant, surrounded by the beauty and life of the chiming city looks up and sees the tower, the castle with the beautifully happy girl and knows that she is necessary, that without her, they would have to suffer the pain and agony of happiness and lightness, and it is only by her suffering the weary drudgery of joy that they can remain sunk into their continual depressions and despair.

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