Unicorns have no concept of time; they are free creatures, more like the wind than anything else. I am a free creature. The storm bends around me as I gallop through the grass. It doesn't feel as tall anymore. Strength courses through my legs. My hooves step confidently over wet mud. I can't slip. I can't get stuck. Nothing can stop me. Nothing can slow me down. There's a magic to my every movement, a gentle tickling, and I know, the unicorn mind knows, I will never stumble.

I love the feel of the droplets against my face. My long eyelashes keep my vision clear. Hot air clouds and trails behind me as I snort. Everything is a beautiful gray and green blur; I am a beautiful brown blur. My white mane flops and swishes. The wind chases me, but it can't keep up. Thunder roars, and I neigh back. When lightning flashes, and the world turns nearly as bright as day, the unicorn heart does not miss a beat.

It understands the embrace of rain, the promise made to wet soil. It knows it belongs. Every once in a while, I slow down to cool off. My teeth rip at the grass, chewing carefully, thoughtfully, before swallowing. This is nourishment; this is fuel. I graze while the rain pummels me, relaxing and letting my mind wander and fade. I don't think I've ever been this relaxed.

At the top of a hill, I drop my body and rest, feeling the storm like a weighted blanket. My ears twitch. My tail flicks back and forth, and I shut my eyes, lowering my head onto a comfortable patch of grass. It's so soft, so wonderful, I doze off. Sleep pulls me in with a gentle caress, and I dream of clouds, forming and taking shape. They turn dark and gray, and I am standing on a field of wheat, brown and stretching as far as I can see in every direction. When the rain starts, I hold out my arms, and I realize they aren't mine. They're too muscular, too thick, too dark. My chest is too broad, and when I glance down, I realize I’m a man. I recognize those powerful legs; they’re Roshan’s legs. And between those legs is Roshan’s...

I cover my blushing face as rain dribbles down his body, tracing the outlines of his muscles. I run my hands down my sides, his sides, feeling the firmness and raw strength. Breathing is so easy; being feels so easy. My fingers are slender and long, and I touch myself, grab myself in every place I can think of as the rain turns into a waterfall. The clouds have tilted toward me, drooping out of the sky, pouring out their contents as though they were tea kettles. Water crashes violently as I run my fingers through my thick hair, as I feel the hardness of my antlers, as I struggle to take a breath in the downpour.

I shudder awake, scrambling on four legs. A neigh escapes my lips, and that shocks me. I’d almost forgotten I'd turned into a unicorn. What the fuck?

I'm back on the hill where I'd laid down to rest, breathing hard. My heart races. The unicorn heart. It's strong and capable, yet it races. Roshan’s body flashes through my thoughts, and I break into a gallop, flustered and confused.

What the fuck?

I break into a gallop, as though I can leave the dream behind if I can go quickly enough, and the unicorn body seems to agree. Downhill or uphill, nothing slows me down. I focus on my muscles, my strength. This body is so fine-tuned that I lose track of where I'm rushing. I just want to move. Grass and storm and mud and rain.

After a while, a shift in the air makes me stall. It's cold, colder than the rain, and I realize I've come near the snowy forest. My breath clouds even more now, and the cold feels sharp in my lungs, as though I’m inhaling thorns. I trot slowly along the border, eyeing the mounds of pure, white snow and the enormous, thick trees that stand guard, their barks brown and clear thanks to the rain on this side. It still bothers me, the dramatic difference in weather. In the forest, there's a gentle flurry, and the unicorn mind does not like it.

It's not tense or angry, but it knows that cold is no good for my body or my hooves, and I turn away. Thanks to the strange dream and the cold, the reckless joy of running has faded. I breathe deeply, licking my nose and tasting rainwater. Lightning has stopped flashing, and no more thunder assaults my ears, but everything is darker now. It must be past sunset, and I try to remember what time it might be. But it's difficult. Numbers float meaningless through this mind, and I am lost. I'm still me, I think, but how do I get back home?

My body turns in response, my head pointing like the needle of a compass, and I snort. It might not comprehend time, but the unicorn mind knows place. It knows how to get around; it’s as though I have the cottage’s location stored in my mind. That's how Rory led us through the forest even though it had been his first time away from home; Beauty could keep track of the world with her body, with feel and touch and sight and sound.

I take my time trotting back. The heavy storm has given away to a steady drizzle, and it feels nice. Staying off the road and keeping to the grass, I relish the heady scent of the outdoors, and I try to focus again on the strength in these limbs. I try to forget my dream; why do I keep having strange dreams? Ahead, I spot the lighthouse, towering into the dark sky as its light shines across the grassy hills before curving toward the ocean. The cottage comes into view as well, and my reprieve fades as more of myself comes back to me. I'm Samiya. I'm the mayor. I'm the shaman's apprentice. And I'm pretty sure Kivuli is home and I'll have to get back inside dripping wet and naked.

Several feet away from the door, before the tall grass ends, I activate .

I focus on the image of me I'd seen in the mirror earlier. My cheeks, my boney chest, and my hips. My thinning hair and my belly button and that hollow expression that's become a permanent fixture on my face. I reach for my body with my mind, and the transformation begins.

With a spurt, my nose shoots back into my face. My jaws shrink, and I stop trotting as several things crack down my spine. Muscle melts away. My hooves split into several thin digits, and I collapse on the grass as my elbows pop. The sleek brown fur shrinks, vanishing into pale skin. A few heart beats later, I have arms again, arms with human hands, and I hold myself in the rain as I watch my feet take shape, as the white mane that flops against my shoulders thins out and turns black.

For a second, the dream surfaces again, and the transformation halts, my body elongated and gross. After several deep breaths and concentrating on the rain and ignoring the dream-image of Roshan’s cock, my torso shrinks, and I am fully myself again. That couldn’t even be his real one, I tell myself. My subconscious is just making things up. I start shivering, and at first, I think it’s cause of how weird I feel, but then I realize the temperature has dropped. The air bites my face and damp skin, and I rub my arms, trying to stay warm, trying to find the strength to get off the mud and make it inside.

The cottage door opens and shuts, and I'm almost too miserable to look up. It's probably Kivuli; she must be angry at me for being away so long. I almost start apologizing, but it’s not her. It’s Rhinestone.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

My heart leaps into my throat. He looks even more ghostly outside, faintly blue and see-through, flickering like he might fade at any moment. I note that he doesn't float, he steps over the ground, but there are no footsteps, no sounds, and the rain that falls through him, upon entering his head and falling through his body... I'm pretty sure the droplets turn to ice. The wind ruffles his hair and the cloth of his blue robe. It seems to be as ghostly and see-through as him, but it obscures his body. Are there special clothes made for ghosts? And he's carrying something too. A dark and heavy cloth. It looks like my cloak.

Somehow, he's even larger than I remember. Tall and wide and muscular. When the lighthouse’s beam shines through him, it shimmers around his glasses before flashing away. "Good morning, Madam Mayor," he says with a polite smile. His voice is booming and deep, and once he'd come close enough, he turns his head away respectfully, while he holds out the cloak.

"Morning?" I whisper, feeling another wave of chill wash over me as I accept the cloak. Quickly, I slip it over my shoulders and pull the hood up. I feel too visible naked in the dark, my hair wet. My scalp itches with dread, and I fasten the cloak around me as I stand, making sure it's completely covering me. Immediately, the cold vanishes, and warmth hugs my bones. I sigh with relief.

"Yes," he says. "I thought perhaps you'd forgotten my request or you were away with Madam Kivuli. I would have understood and rescheduled for a better time, but I am delighted that my patience has paid off. Though I must ask, are you alright?"

I've been out all night? I rub the rain out of my eyes. My human eyelashes feel utterly useless compared to the unicorn's. The rain thins to a steady drizzle, but a fog is settling, obscuring everything beyond the bottom of the hill. I'd been sleeping out there? In the dark?

I look up at him. His sharp eyes, shining glasses, his hair and jawline. He has the same jawline as Dagmus, a kind of squarish shape, but strong. There’s concern on his ghostly face. I remember now. Sulliver. I bite my lips, wondering how to respond. Am I alright? My hand slips inside the cloak and goes to my tummy. I feel full. All that grass I ate as a unicorn... can my human stomach digest it? Or has it already been digested?

I even feel well rested, like I'd gotten a good night's sleep. Better sleep than I've had in a long time, actually. How long had I been galloping? Sleeping? I thought the unicorn mind was gentle enough for me to remain present, but I ended up getting swept into its love of the outdoors. And what about the wraith?

"Madam Kivuli has not yet returned," says Rhinestone when he notices me looking at the cottage. He doesn't sound worried but his voice drops a little. "She often works late, so I am sure it's nothing of concern. Would you still like to accompany me on my morning walk along the shore?"

"She said we would spar today," I whisper, remembering the message Pinto had relayed. But I tell Rhinestone that I'd be happy to walk and reach absentmindedly into my pocket, the special one inside the coat. I turn so I don't accidentally flash him as I pull my staff out of the shadows. My human legs feel so weak now that I've been a unicorn, and the staff helps me balance on the wet ground and slick grass as I follow Rhinestone.

Mud sticks to my bare feet, trying to suck me in with every step. The grass tickles my shins, but the cloak blocks most of it. Every time the wind blows the drizzle into my face, it feels nice, and Rhinestone leads us away from the cottage, away even from the road. It's dark and the sky still looks angry, and I'm just following a ghost in the middle of the night. But I trust him. Even if he is related to Dagmus. Rhinestone's cold doesn't feel anything at all like the sickly, unsettling cold of the priest. Which is strange. You'd think a ghost would be creepier.

I spare a quick glance at the front door, wondering about the Wraith. It can't get inside unless someone opens the door when it knocks, but if nobody was home, then would it still knock? Or was it lurking in the dark? A shudder runs down my spine and I look around, clutching my staff defensively.

Nothing stirs but the wind, and I try to relax. I don't think Rhinestone would be outside if the Wraith was an issue. And he certainly wouldn't invite me to go walking. Exhaling, I follow him toward the cliff, wondering where he's trying to go. Is he just going to jump down?

"This way," he says, pausing at the very edge and turning to face me. The tall grass is overgrown here, but when I get closer, I see what he's gesturing toward. Steps! There are steps dug into the side of the cliff, and the shore beckons blow. Waves crash into the black sands, the sound of it loud and heavy and comforting.

“Oh wow,” I whisper, stunned. I feel like I've just discovered a magical secret or something, like something from a storybook. It's literally invisible from any other angle. You'd have to know exactly where they are to find them. And as Rhinestone descends, as I take the first step down, my head spins. Just to my left is a steep drop. One slip, and I'd plummet to my death, and it's the same sensation I'd get when looking at a high window. A tickle between my toes. A sinking feeling in my stomach. Sometimes, I used to picture myself flat on the street, bones and chunks of meat spread across a pool of blood.

But this is all sand; maybe I'd survive from this height. Or maybe I can turn into something on the way down. Would a slime survive such a fall? I make a mental note that if there's ever trouble and I need a hiding place, this would be perfect. Rhinestone warns me again to watch my feet and to go slowly, there is no rush, especially since it's raining and everything is slicked.

The steps are rugged, weathered. I go down one at a time, using the staff to hold my weight as I feel with my toes. The rock face is sharp in some places, and I don't want to cut myself. Is it too late to run inside and get my shoes? But what if that draws the Wraith's attention? Rhinestone waits patiently, and I'm a bit jealous that he doesn't have to worry so much about mortal things. He could probably just leap off and... would he float to the sand? How did being a ghost work?

As we get nearer to the bottom, the ocean comes closer. Waves crash into a frothing mess, everything angry and alive as storm winds threaten to blow me off the steps. I hold on tightly to my cloak, but the scent out here, the earthiness of the rock, the oceanness of the waters... it's such a beautiful feeling to hold these breaths in my lungs.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, two or three steps behind Rhinestone. He’s too cold to get any closer, and my toes keep finding the trail of ice he leaves behind. It’s like stepping on hail or maybe teeth, but the shock of my dream, the shock of transforming back from a unicorn to a human, is fading, and my curiosity gets the better of me.

"Of course, Madam. That is why I requested your company this morning." He turns and smiles as he adjusts his glasses. "I wish to learn more about you, and I want to share my knowledge with you. Apologies for the ice in my wake by the way. I feared if you slipped, I would be better positioned to catch you if I walked ahead."

"Yes," I say, a little flustered by his intense attention and care. He reminds me of a scholar or a librarian, kind people who are always seeking to gather knowledge and who are always willing to help students. Some people don't have to tell you they care. You can feel it in their body language, even if they're dead. I clear my throat. "How did you become a ghost?"

He scratches his chin, pausing for a second before taking the next step. "Are you asking how I died?”

“You don’t have to answer,” I say quickly. “I don’t mean to be rude. My world doesn’t have... well some people think there are, but I don’t think ghosts are real in my world.”

“Really?” he asks, eyebrows raised. He nods as though he’s digesting that information before continuing down the steps. We’re almost to the bottom. “Well, my dear, I passed away, perished you might say, right here on these very shores nearly three hundred years ago.” When he gets to the bottom, he turns to face me, a solemn expression on his face. “I was executed for my sins. For my hunger for knowledge. For turning my back on my family and God. And for my love of a Blossom Water native.”

I can’t help but shudder, and I remain on the steps as a wave crashes behind him. The sea foam falls through his ghostly form, turning to ice and scattering across the sand. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my mind reeling at the immensity of his words.

“It’s quite alright,” he says with a gentle smile. “Come now. Let me show you where my remains lay buried.”