Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.
I had grown, as children are wont to do. Grown into a fine young woman, the right curves in all the right places, and a lovely, glossy coat of marbled gold and white and black. Indeed, one could almost mistake me for just another normal, pleasant, pretty young lady, if not for one thing. One small, teeny tiny detail.
I have an extra eye.
I love it, but I learned a long time ago that not everyone does. Freak, I have been called. Strange. Unsightly. All these words and more. But I am none of these things, I promise you. I am beautiful and all-seeing. Or nearly so, at least.
Someday, I will find someone who sees it as I do. I keep hope, because what else can I do? And perhaps today is that today. Because there, just ahead, is a young stallion. Black and red and decidedly handsome.
I am not a shy woman, so I approach, of course. Even the muttered curses cannot put me off, not today. “Hello darling,” I drawl, blinking my three eyes, all a lovely shade of pale amber, as I saunter forward. “I say, it’s been quiet around here lately, care for some company?” With a winsome smile, I add a hopeful, “I’m Giohde, by the way.”
Giohde