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January 16, 2021

A Maiden's Fever

Ulrica Hume

Some do not believe in unicorns, but I have seen the wild creature, grazing, alone, his calm spiral horn pointing heavenward. When I came close, careful not to startle him, wanting only to touch his strange white mane, he sidestepped from me in a meek and cautious way. He must have felt the burden of his equine spirit as his cloven hooves danced across the dampened grass, shying from capture. He must have known to guard his powers from the bitter poisons of the world. His black gaze fixed upon me for that one ethereal moment, and then he vanished into the tapestry of forest, his fierce, retreating bray filling the air with shivers of melancholy. My hands stroke nothingness now. I kneel beside the milky blue waters, longing for his rare return.