Could it really be that she was alone in the world? That the rest of her kind had disappeared from the earth? The conversation haunted. The unicorn had seen men before and listened to their stories as they traveled through her wood, but never before had she been called the last. But the first insisted that here, in this forest, was the last. The second scoffed at his friend, saying there were no unicorns, they were myths that mothers told their children at bedtime, nothing more. The first warned the second that they should hunt elsewhere, as this was the home of a unicorn. That was, until one day two hunters passed through searching for game, but found none. Time meant nothing to her, and the outside world was merely a dream inside the eternal spring of her forest. She spent her days admiring her own loveliness and watching as the curious creatures in her forest went about their short and frantic lives. A creature of immortal beauty and purity: a unicorn. In a forest that time wouldn’t touch, was a creature who would live forever.
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