Alicorn

The Alicorn is a relic of an age when desire wasn’t something to hide. When entire kingdoms were built around the promise of a single touch. I never cared much for those tales - until the night it crossed my path, quiet as a thought I’d meant to forget.

It wasn’t the size that made my pulse stutter. It was the geometry of it, that endless spiral carved so precisely it felt almost ceremonial. A shape designed to challenge your resolve and catalogue your reactions, ridge by careful ridge.

Some creatures demand fear. This one demanded honesty. The first time my gaze tracked the slow twist winding from base to tip, I felt every defense I’d spent years perfecting turn to something fragile.

I didn’t reach for it. Not right away. There was a peculiar luxury in standing there, letting the awareness build. Each detail carried its own weight, the gleam of the smooth surface, the steady angle of the shaft, the wide base flaring out like the bloom of some impossible flower.

When my hand finally lifted, it wasn’t curiosity driving me closer. It was recognition. A quiet understanding that I’d been searching for a shape that felt inevitable.

And in that moment before contact, before any surrender, I knew the Alicorn hadn’t come to claim me. It had come to reveal the hunger I’d refused to name.