The attendants were late with my fifth meal, so I passed water on the heap of rags they take turns to collapse upon.
There is not even one row of bars next to it. I suppose this is because their lives are so cheap that no one cares if they fall to their deaths. Nor have they the device which assures the world of my breath (my life is so valuable that its vital signs must be constantly monitored). Still, one hopes a damp rag heap will improve their work ethic.
Today again the evil frog queen taunted me with the bell in her mouth. She continued to mock me even as I tore at her vile, knitted limbs and bit her giant, wicked eyes.
She must have some sway over the attendants, for when I ordered her execution, they did not end her as I commanded, but instead removed me to the bed of dressing.
I have seen the pathetic corner where my attendants hose themselves down.
Their solitary sojourns in the bathing quarters are extremely brief. They do not recline, and the small blue duck does not dance for them.