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And Now For Something Completely Different

  In the beginning, there was Solitude.

  And it was alone.

  Solitude knew this, and wept, for it was aware of nothing but the gaping emptiness it felt. The endless abyss of loneliness that awaited it.

  And for seven millennia it cried, until the world had been flooded with its tears.

  And then Solitude was not alone.

  Life had been born! Solitude watched it with careful impatience, for it knew how delicate Life could be.

  And it was delicate. Solitude spent an eternity watching the mats of simple, slimy life.

  It watched the tiny components arrange themselves into ever more complex forms.

  It watched these gestalts tear each other apart.

  It watched them crawl from the muck onto the land, and take wheezing breaths of stale air.

  It watched as Life met its gaze, and Life looked back at its oldest companion.

  And Solitude wept once more, for it would never be alone again.

  Seven scribes from seven paths

  Blessed by sacred bonds

  Faced the seven gilded thrones

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Whence sat the seven gods

  Seven scribes from seven paths

  Slew seven wretched things

  Who’d for seven hundred years

  Snared us in silver strings

  Seven scribes from seven paths

  Godsblood staining their hands

  Were forced to go their separate ways

  To seven distant lands

  And seven scribes turned demigods

  Their struggles all for naught

  Sealed themselves away to spare

  The freedom they so sought

  Dearest Daphnis,

  Construction in Arcadia goes well. Though he is as far away from me as you, wise Algernon's designs are beyond what I could have ever envisioned. It is strange... he tells me he doesn't know where the architecture is coming from. It is nothing like anything here, at least. The mansion, a mirror to our old one, is stunning... I wish you could see it. I suppose you could, if you looked to ours.

  They are identical, at least on the outside, but Picard has outdone himself on the interior. He, too, tells me he has no idea where his inspiration comes. He says they remind him of an old friend, but he cannot place a name. He insists that the completed building be called Pick's Mansion, which is a dreadfully stupid name, but I'm inclined to let him keep it. Something about it makes me feel nostalgic, too.

  Tell me of your own preparations, please. I know they aren't as elaborate, but you should be proud of what you've done on your own. We've made people happy. We're making people happy.

  You should be happy, too.

  Say hello to Uther for me.

  —Your love, Polybius

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