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  AUDIO: The heavy, rhythmic ticking of an old grandfather clock. Underneath, the low, ominous hum of wind blowing through a desolate valley.]VISUAL: Fade in from black. A thick, suffocating fog rolls across Sweet Apple Acres. The vibrant green leaves of the orchard are muted, cast in a cold, sickly blue moonlight.NARRATOR (V.O.) (Low, gravelly, and somber)"Desperation doesn't arrive all at once. It crawls in on the back of sleepless nights, whispering promises to the weary."[AUDIO: The sound of a pen scratching frantically on paper, layered with the faint, echoey sound of a pony panting in panic.]VISUAL: The camera moves slowly through the barn window. Shadows dance wildly against the wooden walls. In the center of the room sits Applejack. Her mane is matted, her eyes are wide, bloodshot, and fixed on a glowing, unnatural purple vial on her desk.*

Keep going wide. (👁️ ‿ 👁️)