Hello, Seraphina
You hold out your hand, the way you would to a nervous dog, and walk as slowly as your heartbeat lets you.
The unicorn watches you come. When your fingers are an inch from her nose, she closes the distance herself — a soft velvet bump against your palm. Warmth spills up your arm like sunlight. On your wrist, your bracelet — the little star-charm one your mom gave you — gives a tiny shiver, as if it recognized someone.
“You're not afraid,” the unicorn says wonderingly.
“I'm extremely afraid,” you say. “I'm just doing it anyway.”
Something like a laugh chimes through her, and for a second her horn glows brighter. “My name is Seraphina,” she says. “Sera, if we're going to be friends. And Madison—” (you never told her your name) “—I think we are going to have to be.”