I fired off a 5,700-character rant at the lunatic author who keeps putting his magical girls through hell. His answer was to tell me to manage them myself, and then throw me into the story as an angel who was never supposed to exist in it. Except, well... "I can't sleep without a cigarette." "I'd honestly rather just die..." "Blood, I need more blood..." Somehow the situation looks a lot worse than I thought it would be.