“She's your wife. She belongs to you. Play with her until you get tired of her.” Is that something you should say to your ten-year-old son, Duchess? Her young husband was a stutterer. A face marked with snake-like scales. Hands scarred with burns. Still, she devoted herself to taking care of him. “Keep eating. You need to grow taller than me.” “D-do I really have to be taller than C-Cheria?” “……” “I-I actually like it better when C-Cheria is taller than me…” But maybe she worked too hard? The soft and gentle husband she nursed back to health, the one from their healing tale, was nowhere to be found— and in his place, a slightly deranged man had appeared. “Dead? Well, that makes things easier.” “…Excuse me?” “…I mean, I think people who speak of life like it’s just bugs to squash are trash.” Is he watching my reactions, or not?