A Unicorn Child is often referred to as part of a race or species, when it is actually an extraordinary human. Unicorn Children were blessed before birth by unicorns.

Kistelle glanced up from her textbook at the class. Everyone was reading the same passage as her, but often a student’s gaze would flicker over to her for an instant, then, seeing her gazing back, the student’s gaze would drop back to their book like a rock, but they would begin shooting Kistelle surreptitious glances out of the corners of the their eyes, thinking she didn’t notice. Kistelle resumed reading.

Unicorn children have beautiful hair that is long and white.

“Long and white,” muttered Kistelle wryly, “but not beautiful. I’d prefer hair the color of earth to hair the color of clouds.” She twisted her white braid—so long it went down to her knees—around her neck, like a scarf—or a noose. She glanced back at the book.

They have silver nails on their hands and feet. On their forehead is a silver triangular mark. These have been observed in baby unicorns, but eventually a horn grows out of it, while Unicorn Child never grow a horn.

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” murmured Kistelle wistfully, rubbing her forehead. “A horn would be in the way.”

It is a common myth that Unicorn Children are in any way related to unicorns by blood. They simply have their blessing. Unicorn Children are said to have mystical powers, which include psychic visions, mind reading, and healing abilities.

Kistelle scoffed slightly. Mystical powers? Definitely not. The rest of the page was filled with a large portrait of a Unicorn Child. Snowy hair eddied around her slender body, falling to her ankles. Kistelle wondered how she could bear having it so long and free. If she ever pulled her own hair out of her braid, it got caught in things. It certainly wasn’t so glorious. The woman in the illustration’s silver triangle and nails barely showed against her fair skin. She wore a tightly fitting dress that accented the curves of her unflawed body, with two slits up the sides showing a furtive peek at her thighs. Her porcelain face was lovely: an accepting smiling, perfect features, and wonderfully blue eyes. Kistelle’s own were amber, and she personally disliked them. She went on to the next page.

Dragon Children—

“Are you done, class?” asked a voice in a tone that obviously expected the class to be done, and if they weren’t, well, it was unimportant. “All right then.”

Miss Larua stood, blue corduroy dress falling loosely around her. She brushed some of her wispy chestnut hair from her pointed face. Her expression was pleasant: intelligent and with high expectations, yet gentle and joyful at the same time. Her tall body towered against the blackboard, putting her face up so high it was constantly peering down at the students with eyes like a falcon’s.

“Well then,” Larua said, her thin lips twisting into a faint smile, “I should think we already know about Unicorn Children, having one in this very class. Truly, we are blessed to be in her presence.”

The entire class twisted in their chairs to stare at Kistelle sullenly, making no effort to disguise the frank curiosity and dislike in their countenances. Kistelle met their gazes squarely, and they eventually turned, but only because Larua had cleared her throat.

“Well, class, any questions?”

A girl—one that Kistelle envied, one with smooth brown hair halfway down her back and perfect skin, forehead included—raised her hand and asked, “Is it true about the powers?” while her tone insinuated that the book was lying and it was somehow Kistelle’s fault.

There was a pause, and with a lurch, Kistelle realized they were expecting her to answer. In a shaky voice she said, “I guess.” She then abandoned the topic, refusing to answer the question any further. The girl who asked the question and her friend were whispering to each other. Larua folded her arms.

“Girls? Would you like to share?”

One opened her mouth, about to ask Kistelle for a demonstration or something equally cruel, but she thought better of it, closing her mouth as Larua’s falcon-gaze intimidated her into silence.

It seemed Larua was going to begin talking about the subject of Unicorn Children, but her light eyes fell on Kistelle, whose chin was against her neck, arms crossed, staring up forlornly. There was an awkward pause, and Larua asked, “Has anyone been to Teranirra Beach? It has some interesting history…”

(insert space)

It was later, how long Kistelle didn’t know, but she did know that the rest of the lesson had been tormentingly long. Finally, it was lunch time. The other students all had their lunches—a roll with cheese, a small orange, a miniature bottle of milk, and a stick of sweet candy—and were scattered across the grounds, some sitting on ledges, some on grassy hills, and some in trees. Kistelle was sitting on a little shadowy bench, all alone in the corner. She liked being conspicuous. It suited her.

She watched the clusters of girls giggle as they snacked lightly upon their meals, taking a small bite then chatting at a phenomenal speed for several minutes. The groups of boys, on the other hand, were stuffing food into their mouths while laughing loudly and talking. And here she was, all alone. A pang of sadness hit her, but it was brief, for she dismissed it, focusing her attention on her roll. More desperately than anything she wanted friends: she wanted to join a group and giggle madly. She wanted to be carefree. She wanted her life to be fun. She wanted to have a reason to wake up in the morning. She ate quietly for fifteen minutes. They had a fifty-minute lunch to do whatever they pleased. She disliked it, to the shock of the other students. She would rather be in class with something do focus on than sit aimlessly in a corner, forsaken and pitiful.

She was aware of a petite girl sliding down on the bench out of the corner of her eye. She ignored her. It would likely be a girl here to taunt her and ask in a sarcastic voice if she would like to be friends, then laugh about her humiliated, sad state with their friends. After several minutes of being ignored, the girl spoke up.

“Hi there!”

Kistelle turned, but her vague, amber eyes didn’t really focus on the girl sitting there. It was just to be polite. She patiently waited for her to get out whatever punishment she had today.

“What’s your name? I’ve seen you before, but I don’t know.”

“Kistelle,” she said softly, monotonously.

“I’m Ranga,” she said, a wide grin taking up much of her round face. Kistelle examined her more thoroughly. She was shorter than the Unicorn child, who was rather average in height, but seemed to be her age, which was sixteen. Her raven hair was cut short to fall only around her beaming face. She—Ranga—had light green eyes that sparkled mischievously and a colorful outfit. She had on a white scarf—unneeded in the spring weather—a blue tank top, green shorts with yellow pockets, and tall brown boots. She crossed her legs and regarded Kistelle.

“Why are you so antisocial?”

Kistelle stiffened, bracing for the waves of chastisement that were soon to follow. She barely shrugged, breaking eye contact.

“I mean,” Ranga continued, “You could be popular. You’re pretty and good at school.”

“You know nothing of me,” Kistelle growled in a low voice, surprising herself. “I am strange-looking. They dislike me for that. I don’t like people, and the fact that I don’t sit securely among their herds and babble on with them made them push me away because I was different. Because I am who I am, they rejected me until I left them entirely. Wisdom does not matter. Many of them are fit only to spread manure on fields, but their looks and ease secure them a spot among themselves. Don’t you get it? I cannot be popular, not because I do not wish to, but because it is impossible!”

Kistelle, who had barely taken a breath during her rant, was panting slightly. She glared at Ranga fiercely, shocked yet pleased with her uncharacteristic behavior. Ranga, she thought, looked intimidated for a moment, and so she congratulated herself on defeating her. Now, she assumed, she would leave. But she was wrong.

Ranga bristled. “You say they despise you, and that may be true, but the fault is your own! It was your very insecurities about your looks that made you timid, made you think they would hate you, made you withdraw from them! And because of that—because of that, I say, not because of spontaneous malice—they have forsaken you, because they can’t think highly of you without you thinking highly of yourself!”

Kistelle was outraged, furious. She wanted to slap the girl, push her against the table, beat her face to a pulp! She wanted to stomp on her and kick her, hard! She wanted revenge against such an unjust speech, but even as her fists clenched the skirt of her long, pale dress, an unknown source of serenity welled up inside of her, nursing the injured feelings, soothing the frazzled nerves. She regained composure, and with it, acquired the idea that maybe Ranga was right. But she dismissed it. She was about to rise and leave the bench for a more private spot when Ranga, sparing her that embarrassment, stood.

“Bye,” she said, meaningfully trying to meet the Unicorn Child’s gaze, but Kistelle rejected her. Ranga smiled faintly, and it seemed almost sincere, then waved and left. Kistelle, still indignant, did not say goodbye.

Kistelle bit into her orange pompously, staring at it with a ferocious intensity. Pain…outrage…and most of all anger…anger so strong it threatened to consume her…teeth gritting together, fists clenched so hard fingernails dug into flesh and made it bleed…a cry of rage, which had overflowed so much it had to be channeled into a horribly loud, animalistic scream of fury…chains digging into her wrists and legs…”Help me…”

Kistelle’s orange dropped onto the tray. Those feelings, those images, they had not been her own. They had most definitely come from somewhere else. And those words—“Help me”—had been engraved in her mind, playing over and over like a tape, a haunting melody, a pleading male voice, desperate for salvation.

Kistelle fled to the salvation of the classroom as the lunch attendant rang her bell.