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Stani waited in the circle, recalling life in Scania. She thought back to the times when her mother 

and grandmother, and all the older ladies would tell her stories of the White King. She and all the other 

little girls would sit around the kitchen listening to the fanciful tales, not knowing whether to believe

or not. But everyone had heard the story. It had passed down to those ladies from their mothers and

grandmothers; the story always lived on the minds of these people. It was a woman’s story, but the men

 believed, too. Most of them, anyway.

Every once in one hundred years the peaceful village of Scania had the honor of being graced by a unicorn, the White King, an ancient creature of great magic and power. And every time, a maiden

disappeared. The unicorn comes to their humble village, reveals itself to someone and that someone,

a girl, disappears never to be seen again. Sometimes the unicorn would wait for days, weeks or even

months. But they all disappeared in the end, borne away by the magical beast, to its otherworldly home.

Stani recalled the two weeks of waiting she had to endure, and she remembered each of the nights she

stared out at the stars hoping the time would come soon. Tears are shed for the girl gone, sad and happy

tears- sad to have lost a sister or a daughter, and happy to know that those gone has been raised to a height

greater than mortality.

A hundred years had passed and the hour of the calling had come and went. For Stani, ascension

was but moments away. The idea filled her with excitement, even as she remembered weeping freely at

her mother’s shoulders, hugging her sisters and mussing up her brother’s hair, knowing full well they

would never see each other again. And more things, Stani recalled – the feast that was held in her honor, but she did not partake in it. Rather, she had spent that time in solitude reflecting on her fortune and

honor. For her, it was just milk and bread.

She had walked alone into the forest, with a half-filled stomach and a tear stained face. She had

left friends and family behind, who showered her with petals of colorful flowers – but for where she was

going, there would be no use of flowers. They gave her a necklace of gossamer weeds. The necklace

glittered even in the moonlight. Alone she had walked into the forest, and alone she would leave it.

Save the weed necklace, she was naked as the day she was born when she entered the calling circle,

with her clothes strewn about outside it. The moon had hid behind a blanket of clouds as if to shield her 

from prying eyes. She waited and waited. An hour passed, and then two, though it seemed to her that she

was waiting for days. The breeze brought in a wave of cold air, and Stani shivered in the dark. She looked

 back at her pile of clothing, longing for warmth. A furtive glance towards the moon, the necklace fell on

the circle ground, and soon enough, she was back in her clothes, no longer able to tolerate the cold.She went back to the calling circle and waited, and waited, the weed necklace in her fingers. It did

not glow, nor was it gossamer anymore. The breeze blew faster, blowing at her skirt and her long hair.

And with the wind came the sound of hooves. Stani smiled, in excitement and fear, fidgeting more and

more as the hoof beats drew nearer.

In the dim night, the unicorn appeared dull and unmagical, but it mattered not to Stani. She, and

every other person alive, knew the magic of the unicorn. Wonderful creatures striking wonder into the

hearts of men. The equine trotted into the calling circle and nuzzled Stani’s outreached hand. With listless

eyes, Stani stared at the old god, lost in the magic of the moment and the power of the unicorn.

She placed the gossamer necklace on the unicorn’s head, and smiled, eyes listless. The unicorn

whinnied and licked the girl’s palm. It reached up its mouth towards the girls’ neck, and found bare skin

covered by tresses of her hair. A dullness settled over Stani’s eyes, and the unicorn bared its teeth, as if 

grinning. Stani smiled almost melancholically as the clouds drew back revealing the moon. Half a moon,it was and dark orange. Like dried blood, thought a far away distant voice in Stani.

She looked down at the white fur of the unicorn. But it was not white. It was dirty- soiled and caked

with dried blood. Even its horn was broken halfway through. Even under the spell of the unicorn, its eyes

were terrible enough to send a small jolt of fear at Stani. Dark, dead eyes that stared into her soul and

worse, made Stani weep. She was entirely unaware of her surroundings and even of herself. The unicorn

 bared its mouth, and the jaw snapped at Stani’s neck. Blood dripped down the beast’s jaw line, staining its

already bloody fur.

Blood fell to the calling circle, bubbled and evaporated into the air. The unicorn stabbed Stani in

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the stomach with its broken horn, and threw her frail body on its back. It gave another whinny. It was

a haunted sound, Stani realized vaguely, as the life ran out of her. The weed necklace had slipped the

unicorn’s head at the circle center. The dark unicorn turned and made its way back into the forest, Stani

on her back, dead and bleeding.

The hoof beats died away and the moon was once again under a blanket of dark clouds. Scania slept

and Stani disappeared never to be seen again, and the legend of the White King lived on.