Everyone in the Royal Kingdom wants to be a knight, a princess, or a maid, but we can't get anyone to be the evil vizier who has to organize the crippling taxes which fund the lavish lifestyle of the knights, princesses, and maids. No one ever thinks about the poor, overworked evil vizier and all the stress she's under. They don't even consider she might have needs, she might yearn, even...

Oh evil vizier, evil vizier, would you be so kind as to procure polish to make my armor shine like the sun? Oh I am stricken with woe vizier, have my armor painted black, set with spikes. Darling evil vizier, I seem to have run out of kerchiefs to show my favor, please vizier fetch another dozen, we have jousts today, again. Evil vizier, evil vizier, my maid has once again encrusted her undergarments with the seed of her shameful desires, have these washed and see that clean white shifts are ready for the evening ball.

They never ask how their poor vizier is paying half textile weavers in the kingdom to produce kerchiefs, how the besotted vizier has diverted half the kingdom's trade to secure continuous supplies of soiled and cleansed maid garments. We have nearly run the kingdom dry of soot and oils, yet the evil vizier, she persists. She has the armies mustered to conquer the weaker neighbors, every inch of hard won ground paid in blood so her magesty never wants for a kerchief. She is strong, she hardens her heart to the cries of the poor, she... she longs for the day... the day perhaps when she can be. Just. Just the vizier, vizier alone and not the evil vizier. She lays on bed and sobs for the lye shortage she must address on the morrow.