Anger is a most destructive emotion. Those who learn how to let it go, dispelling it, are few and far between. Most people harbour at least a little resentment in their hearts. And even the smallest festering of it can result in debilitating illness.

Mara was in another class of anger altogether. She was a woman who fairly seethed with rage in every waking moment. Sometimes she was overcome by anger in her sleep.

She probably had good reason to be upset. Born to a lineage of the Red Jattamansi Priesthood, she had been trained since birth to serve exclusively in the Temple as her ancestors had done. In the Temple, all her needs were provided. All her wants were indulged. She was therefore ignorant of the ways of ordinary folk and lacked any experience of, well... lack.

So, the revolution and its aftermath were a terrible shock to Mara. Her life was turned upside down. When the Provisional Communard Government abolished all the ancient institutions of the Royal Family, she found herself expelled from the decommissioned Temple and tossed out onto the streets.

That humiliation was the beginning of her radicalisation. That’s when she started daydreaming about exacting a bloody vengeance on the leaders of the revolution.