Where it all began? That's a good question. I could get philosophical and talk about the beginning of understanding, or I could get religious and talk about the old gods making the world and the heavens. Or I could talk about where my species began. Or where Equestria began, forged in the dying flames of a conquered empire...
For me it began just a few weeks ago when I spoke to her for the first time. The one I'd once thought I might have some sort of connection with. She wasn't exactly what you'd call a beauty, not exactly. Very nearly so. A muzzle just a little too squat and cheeks just a little too high to be classically beautiful, but it's the flaws that make the mare, not the perfections. Such beautiful eyes. Her mother's eyes.
If you'd met her mother you'd see this wasn't quite the compliment you might think. She had her mother's temper too, for all that she might want to believe otherwise.
Oh and a horn. Yeah, this dumb mule fell arse over tit for a unicorn. Sure, it wore off eventually; after all there's rules about these things and infatuations that aren't fed do eventually fade away. Nevertheless this mare I had once thought I might love spoke to me a few weeks ago, idly and innocently and with all the curiosity that had first attracted to me to her, to ask a simple question.
"What's it like?"
Her eyes weren't quite focussed on me; she was more than a little drunk, having somehow made her way back to Lachrimose after some big... well lets not beat about the bush. She'd just got married, which was the other reason for that whole infatuation dying off. Married. One of those big society weddings, a whole herd at once. It had been the talk of Canterlot for weeks, for months before the event. I guess the others hadn't really found their way back yet and probably wouldn't for some hours yet, but she always had been one for the library.
That's where I'd found her. I wasn't really supposed to be in there as dad had made abundantly clear, but the old Duke didn't mind as long as I let him know what I'd borrowed and put the books back in the right order when I was done with them. There was a book I was after, some old history book I'd seen out on a garden table a few weeks back but not quite got the whole title of. I knew it was on those shelves somewhere.
"What's what like," I'd answered. This seemed to stump her, as if it should have been obvious what she was talking about, but she bravely soldiered on with a smile and a shake of her head. I suppose little could have put her in bad spirits that day.
"To be a mule," she said, without preamble. I thought about it and you know what? I didn't have any answer. Or at least none that would satisfy her. I think she must have realised right away that the question was a little bit out there because she stumbled through some sort of apology and looked away from me, as if that would be enough to hide the bright glow of her cheeks.