(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Annah crossed her arms across her breasts, "So all th' women know about
this, then, aye?"
"Yes! Yes, they do, and they wholeheartedly approve of... well, not with
their entire hearts, exactly. And while they have not spoken of their
approval in my presence - since they are not exactly aware that I am an
armoire - I would not want them to know that I am anything but, and so
have not been able to inquire upon the matter."
"Can you return to your normal form at will?"
The armoire seemed to think about this for a moment. "I have no need to
share such secrets with the likes of you! And besides, there is no cause to
change back at the present moment, since I have not yet experienced the
full sensations of being an armoire. It is a complex thing, to hold and sort
soft frilly clothes, smelling of wondrous woman-smells." A drawer slid open
and closed, the sound mimicking a pleasant sigh.
I raised an eyebrow, "Uh... wow. I'll need something from you to keep quiet
about this one."
"Very well! Posh! Open the third drawer, you scalawag." As I reached my
hand into the drawer, it slammed shut on my fingers with great force.
Searing pain raced through my hand as I withdrew my battered fingers. I bit
the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, and tears leaked down my
cheeks.
"Ha ha! Cretin! Idiot! 'Open the drawer,' I said, and you reach in--" He
slammed his drawer again for emphasis, then began shaking with laughter.
Morte's cackling withered under my piercing glance, "Well, sorry chief. But
you gotta admit, he's really pulled one over on you." Even Annah looked like
she was swallowing a snicker.
I gave the leg of the armoire a swift kick, "I'm going to chop you up for
kindling."
"You'll do nothing of the sort! Why, even the most common of men knows
that one can't commit an act of violence within the Brothel... you'll simply
be cast out. And even if that were not the case, I assure you my command of
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