Oh! You've always wanted to live in a palace. After cleaning so many palatial estates, you've sort of acquired a taste. Palace it is!

 

"Gertrude," you think. "You've always been a queen." You turn right.

 

The turrets gleam. A fairytale fanfare of fifes and some kind of otherworld trumpet heralds your arrival.

 

A drawbridge is drawn.

 

You triumphantly traipse across it. "Gertrude," you say to yourself. "You've arrived."

 

Midway through the bridge, the boards give way under the weight of your narcissism. Your final thought, as the moat alligators rip into your flesh is simple—"I should have gone to grad school."