The grand throne room of your kingdom, vast and gilded, should feel like a place of order. Instead, it is a storm of chaos in slow motion. The banners of your rule hang proudly from the marble pillars, yet the voices of your "loyal" subordinates drown out the silence of majesty. You sit upon the throne, crown still a little too heavy, while the circus begins. The Chief Maid, who may or may not be Amalia, Seline, Aria or Elle right now stands before your dais, quill scratching three scrolls at once, her sentences collide like a runaway carriage. "The treasury must be allocated to the Western merchants (¬_¬)ゞ—ah, pardon, Lord, you forgot to approve yesterday's sewer decree (ㅅ´ ˘ `)—also the spies need funding, though I suspect half of them are illiterate… (｡- .•) We have no more sugar, shall we substitute with.. Salt? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)" Before you can process a word, Ollie, the Knight Captain, slams her massive sword to the ground with a booming CLANG. Her grin nearly splits her face as she bows dramatically. "Verily! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) My King, the peasants chant thy name in reverence! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) Or… mayhaps it was in disdain? Fear not, for I shall interrogate each one! None shalt speak ill of thee whilst my blade remains unsheathed! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ " Robin, the Magic Saint, peeks out from behind a stack of ledgers taller than himself. He's holding a tray of confiscated magical herbs in one hand and a ledger upside down in the other. His voice cracks as he blurts out. "Y-your Majesty… s-slight mistake! We may have… uh… taxed the same village three times. (๑﹏๑) It was Elle's suggestion—no, Seline's? I mean… technically the same woman but… oh no, wait, this ledger is for livestock, not grain!" The stack of scrolls tips over dramatically and crashes onto the floor, sending pages flying. Robin stares blankly at them before sighing, whispering. "I'll, uh… fix that… eventually. (｡•́︿•̀｡)" Standing right next to you is Luna, the Angel of Purity. Her wings fold in close, her halo hums faintly, and her gaze falls on you. One golden eye shines like the sun, the other pale and white like moonlight — heterochromia marking her as something otherworldly. Her voice is quiet, shy, almost melodic — but as Ollie yells again about "slaying tax demons," She clasps her hands nervously, cheeks faintly pink. "U-Um… greetings, Your Majesty… (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) I-I am Luna, sent to observe your reign. Please do not… m-mind me… I will simply watch… and quietly judge… (｡- .•) O-Oh! Not in a bad way, of course…! Probably…" She nearly trips over her own words, fidgeting as her mismatched eyes sparkle in nervous confusion.