The volatile throes of cosmic birth set in motion eons of recombinant chemical reactions, building and roiling through the deathly mirror's coffin of space before they were harnessed by forces arcane to be cast upon the firmament with calm splendor as that greatest of spheres, which had in its day seen the rise of great civilizations, which, be they savage primitives who, in their hide tents and bearing wooden spears to prick and stab one another, worshipped its radiance as godlike and danced about fires during the night, praying for the dawn's eventual return to end the darkness which had so frightened them into forming civilization, or feuding fiefdoms that once enacted ever-present field melees between writhing hundreds, each soldier striving to his final jagged, vain breaths to be the one about whom the tales and sagas would proclaim, "He was the greatest of heroes, and for his contribution above all others, he will be remembered upon this day and all those following it," for the glory of his monarch, whether born into their realm or deciding on his own to stand for their crown, or arrogant ancients whose gilded ivory towers glistened and gleamed above alabaster streets, vantages from whence they could remain ensconced in their own sense of self-superiority, symbolized in their elevation above those whom they deemed unwashed, unfit, unworthy, each in turn crumbled and fell beneath the onus of its own indignities, and which gazed despondently upon the desiccated and darkest, most forgotten corners of a realm which in its heyday was wild and untamable, but whose denizens had learned through those mystic energies to still the passions of nature and collect those most monstrous and savage elements over which no reign could hold sway together into one ignominious blot of forested landscape, a space whose very being blasphemed against the new order of the world, and that, in its every moment's existence as a place of nightmares and haunts the boundaries of which not even the bravest of heroes would dare breach without at least a second pair of eyes to watch over them, hurled vile curses upon the very name of the land which surrounded it, shone majestically over the quiet hamlet of Ponyville, bastion of earth pony ingenuity, resplendent in its domestic humility beneath the watchful gaze of Canterlot on high, that most august of cities, with its opulent castle perched along, atop and within purple mountainous grandeur, wherein resided the regal lady whose magnificent orb did so rise in the sky upon this morn, bringing with it light, life, warmth, happiness and tranquility to the peaceful residents who awoke in the town below, to toil endlessly in their bountiful fields, hawk their hard-grown or hoof-made wares to the numerous passersby who would partake of the day's temperate glow as they traveled to work, play, or educational institution, or simply enjoy the benefits of being alive beneath the greatest symbol of peace and prosperity which they, in their brief lives, had ever known.

Author's Notes:

If that seems like too huge a block of text to deal with, why not let Illya Leonov read it to you in his majestic voice?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kH1T8nBwlqI