A dear friend of ours by the name of Daniel recently visited his homeland upon learning of his father's passing. It's a long journey to the high hills of the Cloudforest in Neighfarrowland. Only natives know where it is, and even then, navigating the terrain can be tricky.
The night of the funeral, Daniel... Danny, took a walk behind the family cottage up to the mountain lake, where they'd caught many a fish, in better times. Upon his descent, he came across an extremely rare two-and-a-half-toed albino Persian sloth. He thought, "Well, isn't that neat," and reached for his camera to take a selfie with the creature.
Just then, a unicorn came galloping down the trail and impaled Danny directly on the end of its horn. As it waved him around like a marshmallow on a flame, somehow Danny was able to reach his trusty knife and slay the mythical beast. It collapsed, taking Danny with it. He removed himself from the horn and stood, mouth agape, reporting live from the scene of a preposterous yet justifiable homicide.
"What have I done?" he screamed, while adrenaline transported his foggy mind through a kaleidoscope tunnel of time to a very clear memory from his childhood...
...upon journeying to town one dark November day with his father, they encountered a bridge hag at the entrance to Chester Frost. She stood in their path, hunched, leaning into her cane with one hand and scratching at warts the size of raisins with the other, mumbling on about rabbit stew and anarchist feminism.
"Move aside, hag" his father said. The old woman grew angry and raised her cane. She looked to the sky and launched into a ranty verse:
"Evil-doers beware, for the time will come for you,
To move aside thy body and let thy spirit through.
The chosen path is etched in stone, accusers have been warned." She took a deep breath and aimed her gaze directly at young Daniel. "One day you'll fall upon the knife that slayed the unicorn." The witch broke into raucous laughter and Danny's father grabbed his hand and swiftly moved around her.
"What does she speak of, Papa?" he asked as they walked.
"The Curse of the Unicorn, a tale from my grandfather's time. He who slays a unicorn shall be ruined; happiness thwarted, health diminished, heartbeat... eventually silenced. But that old hag, cursing you with this fate...It was the hashish speaking. She's nothing more than a lost soul. Unicorns have been long gone from this land, hunted to extinction by bandits and gypsies. Their blood was the most magical substance known, curing any ailment." He patted his boy's head. "Worry not, my son. Yea, we have our troubles, but a witch ain't one."
As the dream faded away, the sound of her cackle still echoed in Danny's head. He stood trembling, gasping for air. The knife fell from his bloody fingers into the cold dirt with a thud. The gash in his side oozed at a steady pace. Incredibly, he had the wherewithal to empty the mason jar in his pack and fill it with as much of the unicorn blood as possible. He limped home.
Wracked with guilt and inconsolable over the certainty of a damned life ahead of him, he decided to take his own life with that same knife. It only seemed right. Before doing so, he packed the ill-gotten goods on dry ice and express-mailed the jar and a note to our facilities, instructing us to utilize the powers of the unicorn's blood to make the world a better place. So we did.
We honor our fallen brother and that magical equine derivative with this bar of soap - a fusion of many fruits, exploding like a fruit punch to the face.
RIP Danny & White Beauty.