Mirror, mirror, upon my wall...
Night. Crisp and cool even in the midst of the summer season fell like a velvet blanket over the country plains. The rolling, lush green pastures that were home to a menagerie of races and species became soothingly quiet with only the chirps of the crickets that prowled the night to dull complete silence. Plains like these were very common in western Equestria; a slight contrast to the more suburban or cultivated lands in eastern Equestria where towns like Ponyville were. In the sleepy hills of these plains, there was hardly the same spirit as that in Canterlot or even Ponyville. The nights were blissfully silent; near motionless. The soft calm that persisted throughout the morning into the night continued as it ever had; peacefully and soothingly.
Dozens of millions of luminescent stars twinkled against the black cutout of the night sky, joined only by the dull but dulcet moon that owned the darkness. It was Princess Luna's gift to her children each and every night; the children that could speak her tongue, and the ones that could not. The moonlight was all that brought a touch of light to the rolling hills this night, and brought vision to the lone pony walking the plains. The sound of crickets were his only welcoming call, the moon his only guiding friend, the grass his only feeling sensation; and it was all beautiful to him. He made not a sound as he walked the vast plains, his eyes peering up to the moon in passing to catch a little more of its splendor before carrying on with his venture. The chilling night nipped at his bare coat, tossing his tail as it blew by him with each new gust and hill he crossed.
Still, he was still as enthralled with the night as he ever was. All the sensations, all of the beauty. It belonged to all, and he relished it like a sweet droplet from the morning rain. Coming up onto another hill, he looked out to the far off sign of light. A dim but welcoming hearth shown in the darkness; then another, and another, and another. It was a village; his village. It was somepony's home; his home. The village of Dawnford, a sleepy little town tucked into the sleepy little hills on the sleepy wide plains. Dawnford was known for one thing Equestria wide: the fact it was the only village with not another town nearby for days. He loved Dawnford, as did anypony that lived there. It was tranquil... Peaceful.
His nostrils huffed in the soothing scent of the lilacs bathed in the mid-night cool while his eyes drank the welcome sight of his village of Dawnford. The warm hues of lights twinkled as mesmerizing as the heaven of stars that decorated the night's envelopment. Hearths and homes; a vigil of rest for the weary head. His head was not weary, not were his eyelids heavy; despite the hour that drew late on the somber night, he was wide awake and more than happy to take in all that he saw as well as his thoughts. This was home; home to many besides himself. Soft wafts of that most familiar scent started to finally tickle against his nose. Mingled well in with the lilacs in the cool breeze was the faint but distinct aroma: Brine. The salt of the sea.
Though Dawnford was vastly out of reach from any town, it made its living as both a milestone upon the roads for traders, and a moderate marketplace for seafarers. Dawnford was as meager a port town as it was a tourist attraction; enough to thrive on and nothing more. But, it was home; his home. There was no better place in his mind; not a place in all of Equestria more splendid than home. And yet, standing atop the sleepy hill overlooking his sleepy village by the sleepy seas that rested soothing ebbs against the sleepy coast, he thought to all of Equestria. The Equestria that was both behind him and to the sides of him. How far it all stretched; from the great plains to the vast arctic.
Amidst his thoughts and casting glances over his sleeping town, upon the hill a sprout wavered in the wind. Such a small, uninteresting sprout that the moon did cast light upon; perhaps more-so than the blades of grass around it. Beyond himself, the stallion found himself to be looking at it soon enough. It was so very strange, a lone sprouting plant catching his eye over everything else in the vast-vast plains around his village. But sure enough, he was looking at it with a curious intent. He brought himself down to level with the sprout, feeling the blades of green-green grass brush into his muzzle when he crouched down so far. With a tickle -a flinch- the blades of grass summoned from the stallion a sudden sneeze that blustered the spout.
The small spout swung its two leaves against the sudden wind, but it did not split. Once more, the stallion was intrigued by this little act and settled himself down to sit next to the sprout; his head hugging against the night child and crisp grass so he could look at the plant ever closer. Slowly but surely, the soothing night sky, the soft crashes of distant waves, the far off glow of dimming lights, and this most peculiar plant that had seized his attention; all these things worked together to lull him to shut his otherwise rested eyes. Still, he stirred and kept his eyelids from falling too far, keeping an eye on this plant he was suddenly enamored with. Gradually, his might began to fail, and his eyelids began to fall. Little by little, inch by inch, rest started to capture his minds...
Say I am the prettiest... Or I'll make you fall!
Awoken with a start, eyes shot wide like two discs of near pure white in startle as the stallion had shot to his four hooves and looked at what used to be a sprout in awe. Before him, with the backdrop of the still night sky -unchanged even after his moment of rest- was what he once saw as a sprout. Now, a tree stood rooted deep atop the grassy hill with branches that stretched a canopy that would darken the hills if it was not already night. Even still, the tree was not what held his attention alone. At the foot of the tree, resting perfectly on a twisted root to look like some sort of pedestal made by the tree itself was a fruit. A fruit of pure, shining gold. Gold that shined with a light all its own that pierced through the night like a torch. The apple forced the stallion to cast his eyes away, both baffled and blinded by this glowing fruit. His eyes away from the immaculate fruit, a sound -a voice- echoed over the hills he stood on.
"...Read the apple, herald..." Now that was a strange request. Read an apple? Nevertheless, the stallion inched his way back towards the tree, trying to keep one eye shut in case the light were to blind him. However, the closer he drew to the fruit, the light became dimmer until the apple was simply shimmering like a hunk of gold in a stream. Carefully -without letting a hoof touch the apple itself- he looked it over from stem to base; finding on the surface of the fruit a single phrase. The words seemed to follow his eyes no matter what angle he looked at it from. "To the fairest".
"Find them, Paris... Find the fairest and grant her me..." The voice echoed across the plains in a soft, sweet whisper.
Paris, a simple stallion who found home in the quiet town of Dawnford heard the voice echoing out from nowhere. He listened to it... A smile crossing his muzzle and his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Lead on..." He replied in as hushed a tone as he was addressed.
Prettiest of pretty, surely you are. But of them all? Very far.
Why you rotten bobble!
Hold your haste, pretty princess; allow me to finish. You could be pretty beyond pretty with no time to diminish. Into Equestria shall be born a game, a game for a fruit with magic of chaos the very same.
An apple?
An apple, pretty princess, an apple indeed. An apple so delicious, it's your dreams it'll feed.
