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[ With a catch of breath, and the smooth scrape of a knife leaving its scabbard, another human sets to claim eternal life.

He is armored, geared, with an unusual apparatus affixed to his face. It’s equipment originally designed for diving, and it uses an incredibly expensive wind stone to port air from another location. Two strangely-shaped tubes cling against the shoulders, a rubber ball within rising and falling with his breath. With all of this preparation, you would assume a knife is not enough for the task, but there’s a heavy crossbow affixed below his breathing apparatus.

There are rules to killing unicorns.

Firstly, you cannot bring comrades.

It’s said the moment the silvery blood hits the air, all humans will turn rabid to get their hands on it— and this is by design, because they’ll kill each other and none of them will be able to claim the prize.

Secondly, the weapon cannot be metal. Unlike elves and fae, unicorns have no aversion to iron or steel. It’s said to glance right off of their skin.

No, to kill a unicorn, you need a knife made of the horn of another unicorn.

The resin blade he carries now only has one tiny piece of a horn. It’s about the size of a grain of rice, and it’s embedded in the middle of the blade.

It cost him everything.

His house,

his business.

All costs pale in comparison to the promise of eternity.

The wisteria forest is soft and delicate, a symphony of purple, and each step stirs the haze above the forest floor.

The pollen here is so dense it’s similar to fog, clinging low across the expanse of the purple grass and short bushes. When it stirs, it reflects the light, swirling a chromatic effect that reminds him of the little rainbows in water mist.

The wisteria trees, of which this forest is known for, hang low, their branches woven between each other. Instead of one tree, and then another, more often do you see a complex organism where the branches are tangled so deeply they’ve become one. Dark roots curl against each other as if holding hands.

Lilac petals drop onto his shoulders, nestle in his breathing apparatus, and crush underfoot to stain the bottoms of his boots dark purple.

It’s many hours before he finds her, even with the expensive divination spells for location.

In the books, unicorns are snow-white, horned creatures often depicted gently lapping at streams. He knows better, otherwise he might have skipped past the sleeping humanoid.

The creature is smaller than he thought. Despite having the proportions of a woman, albeit with a youthful face, the unicorn would probably barely clear four feet. 

She’s curled in a circle, legs tucked neatly, head down, in a way reminding him of young fawns who hunker down to wait for their mother’s return.  

The purple grass is long, but it looks like she’s pulled it down and woven it beneath her for her evening nap.

The human descends without hesitation, tackling her, driving the knife down.

She rolls to the left, the blade embedding in the thick grass next to her chest, getting tangled in the thick foliage, and the human struggles to pull it up.

“Tommy?”

The wind stirs.

The world tilts, sideways then upright.

Beneath him now instead is a larger woman, brunette, a mole on her left cheek, every proportion perfectly recognizable. Her hair is caught in loose braids, aged creases pull at her lips when she smiles

The human’s voice is muffled beneath his mask, and his eyes are wide.

“Mom?”

A wash of relief and tears and home flood his mind, he’s young again, in the days when the hearth was always warm and his mother’s hands always helped him up when he fell.

It’s too much stimulus, a sudden and shocking rip of childhood nostalgia torn deep from his gut into his chest,

his shoulders tremble with the effort of unexpected tears.

His mother gently caresses the side of his face, looping her fingertips around his ear like she always would.

“Tommy…” she whispers. “My darling boy.”

It's the voice he's not heard in decades.

She does it again, that petting loop around his ear, and this time, his face suddenly feels so much relief. The heavy, uncomfortable mask is gone now, and he’s so grateful.

His mother continues to embrace him until he drifts off to sleep, his childhood home around him, the hearth crackling.

He won’t wake again.]

Aiko doesn't have to worry about humans that much anymore.

She's a unicorn, and with that comes an intense danger, as every part her is highly valuable.

Drinking her blood brings immortality, and everything else---hooves, bones, horns, flesh, blood and tears-- is equally sought after.

The Wisteria Forest, though, is dense with a hallucinogenic poison that only affects humans. It brings them an immense peace, a desire to lie down and rest,

but also stops their heart when they do.

Whenever a human does wander in far enough for some reason, the unicorn's simplest tricks-- pulling innocence to the surface-- is an easy trick.

She's turned into a rather happy woman in recent years, a bit mischievous as well, and is currently training to become a star, which is her species' method of Ascension to divinity.

As always,

This is a SFW avatar.

No torso and hips exist underneath the clothes.

No systems for adult use.

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