Using the royal “we” again, aren’t you? I mean you all. Y’all. Vosotros. Better yet, Ustedes.

Anyway, your royal highness, I know you’re all amazing and your words are glowing and all that, but you’re hardly luminescent enough to do any useful finding of stuff for me in this situation. Besides, if you really could glow brightly enough for me to use you, why would I even need a flashlight? Maybe I should just fumble around for my cell phone or…

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee that’s bright!

Light on my fingers! Light on my face! Light all over the fucking place!

Okay, forget the flashlight. You radiate quite brightly enough! Let’s go ahead and look for that fuse box.

Jeez, for a walk-in closet it’s kind of cramped in there. There are baskets upon baskets of odds and ends (and maybe some old string), gaggles of scarves, flocks of belts, towers of hats, and shoes up the wazoo. My roommates tell me that the middle partition exists because this used to be a stairwell before the top and bottom halves of this house were partitioned, amongst other modifications that have been made to this ridiculous patchwork of a dwelling.

Where could that fusebox be?