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... ndreds of personnel bustled about—and lately, they all seemed to be suffering from the same bizarre affliction.

Its name: “It’s all my fault” Syndrome.

“As His Highness’s personal physician, I failed to protect his health! This old man no longer deserves to live!”

“Disease stems from an unclean environment. This is all my fault as the head maid. I will return all my titles and property to the Golden Cloud Palace and live out the rest of my life as a hermit—please, grant m ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

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