Every full moon, they locked their doors and shuttered windows. They barricaded, they barred, they held their children tight.
And listened for the crystalline ringing of silver hooves.
In the morning, they would always find the unfortunates gored through the heart by a long silver spike.
Nobody looked at their daughter too closely, because everyone knew that a unicorn wasn’t born from nothing.
First, there was a maiden with murder in her heart.
This microfiction in response to the microfiction poll winner: ‘evil unicorns’. Image by M. Maggs from Pixabay.