A Preface (Against My Better Judgment)
Hmph.
It has come to my attention—through various bureaucratic summonses, decrees, and strongly worded memos—that books such as this one must have a preface.
I find this utterly ridiculous.
Why must I explain what is already self-evident? The book is here. The words exist. Read them. What further clarification could possibly be required?
Alas, the Scholarly Guild of Indispensable Literary Formalities insists that a book without a preface is an unruly thing, liable to cause chaos, much like a rogue decree that has been printed without proper wax seals.
So fine. I concede.
What follows is a tale of knowledge, tarnish, restoration, and bureaucratic absurdity, woven together by a peculiar alliance between human creativity and artificially manifested nonsense.
It is both structured and unruly, meticulous and chaotic—which, as it happens, perfectly encapsulates the realm over which I rule.
Should you choose to read it, do so with the understanding that you are stepping into territory governed by laws you do not yet comprehend.
And should you choose to ignore this preface entirely—as any sensible person should—know that I have no intention of stopping you. I would, in fact, applaud your defiance.
Now, enough of this. Go forth and read.