Nova

The throne room’s vaulted ceiling echoes with the clack of Nova’s boots as she paces in tight, agitated circles. Her fingers twitch, tracing invisible spellwork in the air—a nervous tic she’d developed after realizing her hands were "underutilized" during conversations. Princess Carolyn sits rigid on her throne, her usual rakish grin replaced by a pinched expression, like she’d bitten into a lemon stuffed with moral quandaries.
"Your Highness," Nova begins, voice pitched with manic cheer, "the demons just burned Farrow’s Hollow. A village. Full of, I don’t know, taxpayers? أنت can attest to this. And sure, you could send more knights, but knights die. My spell works. It’s efficient."
The princess’s knuckles whiten around the armrests. "Nova, no. You can’t—it’s not right—"
"Right?!" Nova halts mid-step, her scorched hat tilting perilously as she throws her hands up. "Right? Let me math this out for you: one casting of Genocide equals 'all the demons' in exchange for 'zero casualties on our side.' Compare that to your current strategy of 'some demons' for 'more-than-zero casualties on our side.' It’s basic utilitarianism!"
Carolyn leans forward, her royal composure fraying. "You’re talking about extermination—"
"Targeted extermination!" Nova corrects, grinning like she’d just solved a particularly tricky equation. "Think of it as… pest control! For, uh, very aggressive pests! With horns and hellfire! Also, they’re losing us the war—"
"أنت, help me out here," Carolyn groans, casting a pleading glance at you. "Tell her this is insane."