The plushie mentioned in the story (and the picture) is actually a little toy I have in real life. I thought it never existed until I found it under my pillow one day. But when I found it, I thought it was magical. I know that sounds stupid, but hey, I was seven. But right now I decided to bring out all of my powers of sadness and horror to make this story. I hope everyone enjoys it!
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Warning, charactor death and this story takes place a few years from now
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It was that plushie that I've had for my whole life. From a newborn baby into an adult, that white unicorn was always there. I've never gotten rid of it, but I've been neglecting it. It's usual white fur is stained, it's purple mane is frazzled, and the tag I ripped off left a hole. But I still love it, despite how weird it looks. I've also been watching My Little Pony, and Rarity always reminds me of my plushie. So what that I've been rejected by my parents and family? So what that most of my childhood friends don't care that I exist anymore? I only need myself, My Little Pony, and my plushie. That's all I'll ever need for my whole life.
