Next too, or perhaps below, or above, or over Equestria, there is a bazaar. And there, amongst its teeming and ever shifting patrons, one finds not always what one desires, but what one needs, or in stores they've never heard off, find things they never knew were lost or longed for.

As one walks, some are stopped by others of their kind they had never met and greeted by name and told a package had arrived, and then are handed items they were sure they had never seen but were as familar as their own face. From one stall, traders worth millions chortle over tracts bought for sacks of jewels, while from another a vagabond purchases a singularity that can make entire universes for pennies so he has something warm to hold to him in the night.

In one hair salon, the viatnamese maiden who by day attends to the manes and nails of countless females is by night a madam of brothel that deals solely in angels to eager clientele. In their room, the chained beauties look at their captor with adoration, for in their eyes she is more valued then any, while in another room, her grandson reads, and to him the old lady is worth less then the change in her flower work apron. In this place, all is of value and is worthless.

It is here the Grand Vizier of Sunbeam Sparkle walks, on a journey to a land far from her own. And in this place, this temple of dedication to the libertarian, she is the closest to ever come to this places true title: she walks the floors of what she calls The True Face Market. And from there, she searches the sands of Arabia to find her own treasure.