Ah, my pretties. Play wonderous music for me while I work. For whilst I may strike my victims dumb with terror, and turn them into little more than silent puppets dancing to my tune, I need my music to keep my own sanity.
So play on, my pretties, play on.
Play well, and you may go free to pursue your own desires and dance to your own tunes.
Play poorly and join my victims in their fleeting lives.
The time for a revolution is upon us. If left to his own devices, the Prince will fritter away the kingdom in his absurd belief that he was once a frog. This cannot be allowed to continue.
There is no doubt about it.
His slightly green complexion in all the official photographs can be easily explained as a trick of the light and the overuse of these new fangled fluorescent lights in the palace. Before he installed the lights, he never pointed to photographs as evidence. Now he does all the time. Only new photographs, of course.
His unhealthy liking of flies is more difficult to explain. But there is historical precedent. Sir Renfield, at various times, and at various ages has always kept flies in abundance. While one might accuse Renfield of vampirism, the flies never made him a frog.
Furthermore, as so many have demonstrated so well, merely being skilled with a weapon does not make one a soldier.
No, the Prince is not a frog.
And his continued insistence will bring this country to the brink of war if he is not stopped.