The Unicorn sat on the bed and waited for his girl to return. He could do nothing else, for his body was made of stuffing, but this fact did not mean that he wouldn’t have stayed right where he was if he did have the ability to move.
The Unicorn was old, his white fur dingy and his mane short and tangled. The flecks of silver adorning his blue horn and collar had lost their luster long ago. His amber eyes were dull, but no less alert than they had been years ago when she had come into that shop and picked him up, his body filling her little arms. Love had aged him, and, to anyone but her, he would have appeared ratty. He knew this, but the warm life that that same rough love had given him was worth every loose thread.
The Unicorn saw his girl slide into bed and reach for him, taking him into her arms and hugging him tightly. He still fit perfectly in those arms. She was upset, as was common with her. He could not speak comforting words to her, but he knew she didn’t mind. It was enough that he was there. Her body curled around his, and she gently moved his horn aside as her cheek pressed against his soft forehead.
The Unicorn couldn’t have been happier.