The time foretold may well be at hand; long have the prophets foretold that a Leader would come to House of Tory from The East, and that, sensing weakness and disarray in his foes, he would forswear the agreed election date to catch them unprepared.
Lo, but this Leader's own preparations would be unsound, and he would be vexed from without and within, tormented by magick mirrors and plagued by the reversal of decisions. He would prompt anger in the commonweal and resentment amongst those he once called allies, and those who gave him counsel would be grateful when his boot impeded his tongue.
His efforts to conceal his machinations would be for naught, and after the Crossing of the Floor, the people would wonder what other schemes perchance they had not espied?
Yea verily, this Leader would be beset upon the left and upon the right, and the surety of his victory would be cast into doubt, as his Red Nemesis crumbled before him, to be replaced by the Queen O'Range. Facile of tongue would she be, and rising not to the bait of his accusations, laughing as she spake in defense of his rival, who had onetime hence supplanted his coffers.
And the wise decree that the Leader should fall silent for a time, hoping his foes might undo themselves, but alas, this was not to be, and they would grow in stature and boldness, as more and more flocked to their banners, with many a lawn adorned in kind.
In desperation he would lash out one final time, ornamenting the Queen O'Range in the Cloak of Fear, but he would come to lament this. Turning the mantle about, the Queen would exhort those around her to show bravery in the Face of Change.
And did they?
We shan't know until two dawns from now,
But the wise tell us to expect the unexpected from time to time, and such a time may well be at hand.