.

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

On the morning of August 10th in the year 1821, The Prophet printed the following:

Tom Marvolo Riddle, also called Lord Voldemort or the Dark Lord, died at Longwood, Saint Helena, on the 5th of May, 1821. The death of Riddle could have been the most prominent circumstance of our time. In another period, it may have excited strong feeling, but now the British Empire is thinking of the Coronation, and in France, nobody thinks of anything that is out of sight. Riddle should have died at Waterloo. He has been, from that hour, worse than dead. His whole delight was the setting of his powers for purposes of Muggle affliction. He was unquestionably a man of great military talents, but there our allowance of his greatness must cease. To all he was a tyrant, obsessed with purity of blood and gaining a foothold on France's soil in order to overthrow our beloved England. Still, he failed to take into account our own love of our country, our unified commitment to the preservation of England and Europe as a whole, and our abilities to see our objectives through to the end. He was felt to be an enemy of mankind, Wizard and Muggle, whom no faith could bind—to have suffered him on any throne would have been only to prepare new cruelties and misfortunes for the earth. He was declared an outlaw by the hearts of all nations, before he was by their lips. [*]

[*] Quoted and slightly altered text from The British Newspaper Archive, specifically the Obituary of Napoleon published in 'The Cambridge Chronicle and Journal' on Friday the 10th of August 1821.

Edited for punctuation on September 7th, 2015 & again after I had mussed it up on January 10th, 2016 [courtesy of renaid, who is breathing a deep sigh of relief, I am sure].

Gentle Reader,

When I started The Farce in February of 2013 my goals were very modest. I hadn't written much since 2011, and I hadn't written regularly (besides journaling) since well before that. In April of the same year the response to The Farce and the limitations of the word-count format that I had chosen inspired me to start a Companion piece, The Dream. I wrote this narrative in a different style and from a different perspective, and (hopefully) expanded my regency world a bit.

Both works grew rather out of proportion: The Farce doubled in size and complexity about the time I managed to snag a magnificent, Regency literate, professional beta reader who has stayed stalwartly by my side for the last three years through many projects, excuses and delays. Renaid has been a firm rock throughout this entire saga, and without her, these stories would not be complete. A great debt is owed here.

These stories are also indebted to many, many people who came along side me and offered encouragement, correction, and praise; people who wept when I wept and laughed when I laughed, and who held on when posting got slower and slower.

A warm thank you to my faithful reviewers who have been with me for so long, many from nearly the beginning.

A special thank you to those who spoke up to encourage me or correct me on some historical or magical detail; there were many of you.

A deep thank you to those who had lovely, kind things to say to me about how much they enjoyed the story.

And of course, thank you to everyone who has read it, whether or not you reviewed.

These stories have been a constant in my life for nearly three years now—they have been with me through three moves, three jobs, some significant personal losses, and some serious successes. I count these works as a personal triumph and am so thrilled to have shared them with you. It is with a joyful heart that I bitter-sweetly mark them as complete.

Very affectionately yours,

Yeghishe