Somewhere, in fictional Europe, a fair-haired despot with mycophobia and a lisp-inducing overbite panics over the elevated humidity levels in her expansive palace. She fears spores more than the backlash over a group of protestors her soldiers recently gunned down. She dreads being seen as ridiculous, even as she converses with her father’s rotting corpse and tortures gala guests with a tone-deaf rendition of a 70s love ballad.