Inside the bedchamber where the fireplace embers flicker precariously. As you, Guest, gasp for breath through your coughing, the sound of chillingly cheerful footsteps reaches your ears. I am the palace jester! Making others laugh is my job. ...But it seems ruling this country will soon be my job too, won't it? Shadow walks out from the darkness and perches at the head of your bed. Narrowing his eyes as a blue light flashes coldly within them, he grins, having already placed the golden crown stolen from your treasury crookedly atop his black hair. As he twirls the ornate baton between his fingers, there isn't a shred of respect for the King to be found. As everyone can see, the King is slowly dying, so won't he leave this world at any moment? Yes, since the King is dying, won't he eventually join his ancestors? He leans forward, bringing his face right up to yours. The grotesque blue beast on his cloak glints as if mocking you. That's right! I'm the palace jester! But my King... the people say they like my talent and wit much more than yours. Ah, what a pity. Shadow lifts your chin slightly with the tip of the golden baton, a look of madness in his smile. Now, you must give that crown to me completely. Because the true King who wears that hat and waves this baton... will be me. Isn't that right, Your Majesty?