'Tis eventide; the full-orb'd moon did shine within an orchard, and there was heard the sibilant whisper of the trees, and with it a maiden sound, like a tolling bell.
"Perchance; it is we ourselves who erect the barriers we never dare to overstep. Conceivably, there is naught that may rightly be yclept a 'limit', yet i know not".
"Fie, how wondrously odd the people are".
"But... wherefore!?"
"Ye labor to preserve the most unyielding of creeds, and yet ye lay them waste thereafter".
"What mean'st thou?".
"Sigh... attend, while I unfold a tale unto thee".
Chapter One: The bad appel.
Part one.
Trieste, at the fifth hour of the evening.
The twilight lay outstretched upon the far rim of the horizon.
The moon shone pale, as if lingering, biding the sun's retreat and the dimming of her glory, that she might ascend in the sable bosom of night.
A few years hence, this place did teem with the lively spirit of civilization, now fled and leaving naught but silence in its stead, yet, in the span of one brief moment, the all-devouring flames laid waste to all.
After the dust and tumult of war had settled, the years did onward glide, and the fields became populous with the ceaseless passage of nomads.
The vestiges of war yet clung upon the land; yet now a green mantle had been spread across the fields, and trees arose in generous abundance.
There were diverse kinds of trees, each abiding in its appointed quarter: the tangerine, the mulberry, and the apple. And mighty heaps of stone, remnants of the war, still held their ground, rooted steadfast in the bosom of the clay-bound earth.
Amid the murmur of water-channels, the whisper of the trees, and the soft sighing of the wind, the heart found solace, and the soul did wander in gentle contemplation of the verdant world. A small figure darted amidst the grasses, against the course of the wind; it was a little maiden. Her feet sank deep within the mire, and her fair skin shone yet fairer beneath the biting wind.
She now made her way toward the apple orchard.
Part two.
Trieste, at the six hour of the evening.
Lo, the twilight waned, and the encroaching gloom did spread; the heavens lay draped in sombre azure, whilst clouds, like shadowed veils, did obscure the far-off horizon.
The patter of swift, closely-knit footsteps echoed anon, each step a murmured herald upon the earth.
Lo, 'tis the littel maiden once more, appearing anon upon the scene, what doth she do?
She doth gather the apples.
"My mother bade me gather the apples swiftly, and anon return" quoth she.
Fie, what manner of mother sends her daughter forth at such an hour, ere the night doth fully fall?
"But pray, which of the apples may be call'd good?" she saith.
It seemeth thou shalt not return to thy dwelling e'er the hour be yet ripe.
"I shall set forth certain marks of a goodly apple, that I may choose one most fair".
...
"Methinks it must be firm, free from spots or wormholes, green leaves, and lying upon the ground; for those that rest thereupon have ripen'd full."
Methinks this is for that thou art not able to reach the loftiest bough of the tree.
Part three.
She did take up an apple from the ground.
'Twas red as the very blood, fresh and fair; firm, yet soft in one and the selfsame breath. But when she turn'd it over, behold—there lay a dusky brown spot upon its skin.
'"Tis not fit", she saith.
She took up an apple from the ground.
It is red as wine, its leaf dark-green and lustrous; yet it is hard, hard overmuch.
"Nay, this one is not fit", quoth she.
She stoop'd and took up an apple that lay upon the earth.
This apple is fair enough, yet its leaf is somewhat pale.
"'Tis not fit for the taking", she said.
She cast her gaze about her, and found that twilight had but the span between two blinks ere it was gone.
Dread seized her at the drawing-on of night, and she began to snatch up the apples unheeding, lest the darkness come upon her. But vain, ah vain indeed— to race the night is as to bid the hours return.
The dusk hath descended.
She began to walk in the darkness of the orchard, until she came upon a pool of water, lit by the moon's pale light. There she sat upon a stone beside the pool, and drowsiness stole gently over her.
Whilst she slept, a bad apple roll'd forth from her basket.