In loving memory of my father who may as well have died at war.

I

excepting oneself.

To live a dishonest life,

one must be truthful to everyone,

her dream.

her wish was to be the lie; to become it,

Always,

II

Dear Prof. Rearden,

I, Haruhi, wish to whisk you away to a faraway world named Earth, where magic is in every word of prayer and Gods preside over everyman's kin. Some nations will have disagreements. Where The Man decides, from himself He derives the cultures of creation. Yet man still young—in his twenties—pulled by indigent bootstraps to war lives his life unyieldingly.

Yet Man 's still young, and like young men, he is selfish. Whereby selfishly he claims through war his fame he is destined to be the lesser of subordinates. Cruel irony in life that through infamy he’ll thrive but destroy every one who loves him. And never though any fault of his own; his circumstance is Fate’s—all ready-made.

The Gods do avail of theater and play—the actors, the arena, the show. An endless entertainment for all who’ll avail it, the other to man in mirrors shown. An end-of-monthly subscription for grading and a mission to complete two chapters each time. From April through March on the first or sixteenth, whereabouts our stage will shine.

Thus and thereafter, dear Faust departs to capture a merry, joyful rhyme. For whose inner cloister would heavens repose to foister, entomb'd, to die. To sleep no more! and in dreaming field to some distant shore where pearls needn't oyster to be.... So revel and roister, Faust and his oyster, the lovely island key.

See you soon,

-Haruhi