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You are now entering Penwan.
It’s a small town, somewhere in the USA. It’s the kind of place from which you try to escape as soon as you can muster the balls to leap out of the nest, but it inexplicably draws you back. It’s an isolated river of contradictions, family values, psychosis, demons, saints, sacrifice, prodigal daughters, wayward sons, wanderlust, and those little stone geese that people seem so wont to dress up in bonnets and aprons.
The people in Penwan appear to be normal, because they are. They have no magical powers, nor do they wear tights and fight crime. They are your average, everyday, completely fucked up denizens of middle America, who talk to angels, fear what hides behind death and laugh in his face. They are the pebbles that cause ripples and avalanches.
They are everything you are and nothing you want to be.
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