I Sing To Them

I sing to them, the dear little children. With my feet. There is something about the sound that twists around inside their adorable heads and pulls all the right switches. I sing into the mist curling through the forest, and I can feel, in my gut and blood and bones, how it reaches them in their dreams.

I See them stirring on their eiderdown pillows, those tender pink feet swinging out of bed and hitting the floor.

Come along, curly haired little tots. Come to me.

My ears flick and swivel, my flanks twitch. I toss my mane, impatient, staring through the dark.

It's usually a little girlchild. I like them, especially. They have a magic all their own. The wonder in their shining eyes, their little hands patting my shoulder and my velvet nose. There is a myth that there's nothing in the world softer than a horse's nose. It's false. The softest thing is my nose.

Clip clop, little darlings. Clip clop!

Here she comes, in her nightdress, cheeks round with babyfat, hair tousled from sleep. Can you see her as clearly as I can in the starlight?

I stand as pretty as I know how, neck arched, horn catching the moonlight just so. Every muscle ready to launch me away into the night, never to be seen again. This is part of the magic. Show them wonder, and threaten to pull it away, to disappear it forever. This binds them to you. It distorts their senses of fear and saftey. The healthy fear that tells them Run is drowned out by the fear that I will surely vanish, that perhaps I never was. And they so desperately, desperately want me to be real.

Hungry.

Wolves and men are fools, all. This is how you hunt. You don't chase, or hide, or stalk. You stand in a glade in a forest and you let them approach you. It's quite glorious.

First I feast on her wonder, her delight in me, her adoration. When the moment is right I strike. Use the fangs concealed behind velvety softness. Her bones go crunch.

Did you think no one has ever seen a unicorn?

Just no one living.

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Word count (excluding notes): 366

Submitted on 14th March at 23.35

*Quick Author's Note*

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A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes a 75 day streak. I'm also putting them in my Index post.

Thank you

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