Welcome to Hell (d)

A young woman who likes to wear a span skirt and a white shirt with a high collar with blonde hair thrusts a thick book in front of my face. I estimate it's about fifteen inches thick.

"This is a collection of etiquette that you must instill in yourself. Your conscience, Princess Daphne."

She says conscience whereas everyone here doesn't have it. What kind of joke is that?

I let out a short sigh, opened the book with a thick brown cover, and began to read the first page. My eyes bulged at the line of words written there. All the rules I can't break are my habits. What the fuck?

"What the fuck?" I looked up at the woman—who said her name was Gertrude—with a pitiful look.

"Rule number twenty-one, no swearing, Princess Daphne," she said in response to my pitiful whimper. I suspect, this woman was created from components of complicated cables such as terminators. The way she spoke was really stiff, had no tone of voice, and was monotonous.

"I don't swear. Think of it as my spontaneous reaction to seeing this set of rules." My eyeballs rolled. Back again, I reread the row of rules in front of my eyes with a boring look. Gosh, I could die young at this.

15. No picking your nose in public

This rule makes my stomach churn. I do it often, no matter where. I read again, occasionally tapping my fingers on the table.

25. No laughing loudly

And yeah, my laughter is comparable to the sound of a nuclear bomb exploding.

I'm frustrated. My head feels dizzy. So, I banged my forehead on the thick book many times as a form of frustration. Lord, please, save Your servant.