Blackacre

by Princess Woona

Preface

History, they say, is written by the victors. What happens when those victors want to forget?

I started researching this book almost immediately after it ends, though of course I didn’t know it at the time. I just wanted to understand what had happened, and why. That entailed asking questions that didn’t have easy answers; more importantly, it required getting information from sources ranging from disapproving to outright hostile. In this respect I owe much to the ponies of the non-Equestrian news sources, many of whom have requested anonymity. For them, my conviction in the court of Equestrian public opinion never carried much weight.

By this book I do not seek absolution. Frankly, it doesn’t matter any more, because no one cares. There was a time when my name alone inspired something — usually hostility, occasionally gratitude — but those times are long gone, and with them the collective consciousness of a generation that saw and suffered too much to slip quietly into the night.

I would very much like to see Canterlot again, to climb the steps of the Sun Tower, to sit in that familiar chair at the Council’s table, to walk once more through the stone halls that were my home for so many years. It does not escape me, though, that I am old, and another ocean crossing would be my last. I therefore send this book in my place, and commend it to those who would seek not truth but understanding.

I dedicate this book to those who served, regardless of their side;

to those who fought to protect their brothers and sisters, without concern for their lives;

to those who did what was right, no matter the cost.

A. M.

January, Y.C. 1049

Stalliongrad