Newtons Law She appeared leaning on my door, tossing up and down a polished winesap, the Apple of Discord. I pause: Who chose the apple as the fruit of the fall? Atalantas were threefold: golden delicious. Arthurs misfortune buried him on the Isle of Apples. Paris doomed Troy bestowing on Aphrodite the fated fruit. A sinful peel twisting round my finger; a core, nothing more, remains.