There once lived a beautiful girl in the Forest of Imagination. This girl was absolutely sure she was born to be a princess (although she couldn’t remember her parents). Unfortunately, her perception of what a princess’s life was like may have been a bit skewed. She was a teensy bit bossy, and perhaps even a wee bit shallow. This girl, who we shall now refer to as Princess, also had a kind heart. She loved to cook and bake delicious dishes for her subjects, er, friends.
One day Princess decided to have her subjects, er friends, for brunch. She would serve them a soufflé and periwinkle tea. This was not to be just any soufflé, mind you, but a special soufflé, a Unicorn Soufflé. Princess dug out her mother’s recipe, and assembled the flour, milk, eggs, and butter — and then realized she did not have any unicorn horn dust. Hmm . . . what to do . . . what to do.
Princess set off into the Forest of Imagination in the hopes of finding a unicorn. It never entered Princess’ pretty little head that, to obtain said horn dust, she would have to cut the tip off of the unicorn’s horn. Now, I can’t speak for all unicorns, but if I were one, I would not want the tip of my only horn cut off.
Where were we? Oh, right. The Princess — who we are conveniently calling “Princess” — was gallivanting through the Forest of Imagination to find a unicorn from which to extract some unicorn horn dust.
As she came to a particularly sparkly clearing, she crouched a little lower and got a little quieter. You see, Princess realized that she had reached the Unicorn Glade. If she was ever to get some unicorn horn dust, this was the place.
In fact, the glade was glistening with fairy dust already that needed only to be gathered. If Princess had but known that, when baked into a soufflé, fairy dust is in fact much tastier than unicorn horn dust (among other benefits), she would’ve had an uncomfortable afternoon, but she might not have gotten into The Predicament (as it was later called).
For now, though, blissfully ignorant of looming events, Princess crouched a bit lower and leaned forward expectantly. Breathless, she peered into the Unicorn Glade from beneath the relative safety of a gigantic Worleyburn Fern. Her eyes swept the clearing carefully. As she scrambled around in the dirt, her shins banged mercilessly against a broad, uneven stone. “Yeow … oomph!” she yelped, grabbing both of her shins and toppling backward onto her derrière. “Watch it, punk!” she hissed at the rock, which grinned smugly and stuck its tongue out at her.
Princess winced and rubbed her shins contemptuously. Surveying the intricate patchwork of tiny scars along the length of her shins, she scowled, remembering the last time she had visited this rather nefarious patch of woodland (which had included a particularly embarrassing run-in with a gaggle of insurgent Piccadilly Pixies). “Those nasty little biters aren’t going to get me this time,” she mumbled resolutely, rubbing her shins a few more times for good measure.
Satisfied that the place was not immediately perilous, she hopped out into the glade, inhaling carefully to avoid snorting too much fairy dust up her nose. “Gah” she grunted, rubbing her nostrils anxiously, “I don’t care what the FDA says, that stuff’s dodgy!”
“Oh, come now – it’s not THAT bad,” a deep, tranquil voice echoed throughout the glen. “The Fairy Dust Administration is much more reliable in their classifications these days, you know. This new stuff is imported directly from the Nepalese Nymphs, who swore on their ancestral Wimbleysticks that it’s completely organic, GMO-free, and 98% non-toxic. Personally, I very much enjoy its lemony fragrance and delightful tangerine top note.”
Princess started, scanning the sagebrush nervously. “Who said that? Where are you? Show yourself!” It was hard to see with so many sparkly things floating about in front of her face. A throat cleared itself patiently in front of her and she squinted though the haze of mist and fairy dust. Fanning away a particularly oppressive cloud of sparkly things, she stepped forward hesitantly.
Suddenly, she spied the owner of the mysterious voice. There, in the heart of the glade, stood a very large, brawny unicorn. Its chin tilted majestically aloft and its mane rippled handsomely in the breeze as it urinated liberally upon a moss-covered rock. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped, “Oh, oh my, I uh … ew!” She stepped backward in dismay.
“Ahem,” said the unicorn.
“Oh, I’m um, I – uh so sorry, um … oh ugh, aren’t you finished yet?” Princess wrinkled her nose scornfully.
“Do you have an appointment?” asked the unicorn indifferently as he continued to relieve himself.
“He-hello sir,” Princess stammered. Then she thought, why am I afraid of this silly beast, he’s just a harmless unicorn. Princess stood up straighter, squared her shoulders, and said (more like demanded) “I am here to collect some unicorn horn dust. Please give me the tip of your horn so that I may finish making my soufflé.”
The unicorn snorted as he stared at Princess. He didn’t know if he should admire her for her tenacity or ridicule her for her stupidity. “Little girl, what in Aslan’s name makes you think that you can have the tip of my horn? You do realize what would happen if I were to lose my horn, yes?”
Princess glared at the unicorn. She couldn’t believe that he didn’t immediately comply with her request. This was not going to be as easy as she thought.
The unicorn turned and started to walk away. Princess started chasing after him, not realizing the chain of events that were about to unfold.
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