She had the prettiest blue eyes,
and she knew it.
The rosiest blush,
and she knew it.
Everyone wanted to be her,
it was only a matter of fact.
A beautiful mare running the plains, trifling wherever and with whomever she pleased. And they adored her. Oh, yes. All because she was blessed with an unusual horn growing from the very center of her forehead. They would do anything for her. Mythical, she was, unique: Their jaws would drop in awe from great lengths away, and they would whisper in hushed voices about their luck of witnessing such a miracle. "Darling," they'd coo, in sheer admiration.