As a little girl, I had always been obsessed with anything that glimmered, or sparkled. Anything that radiated even the slightest hint of wonder or magic.

More than anything, I longed to capture that power.

Of course, my school friends had sneeringly informed me that it could never be possible, and believing in magic was for babies. Stung, I became even more determined to prove them wrong. There had to be more to the world than this.

A world without magic? It wasn’t worth thinking about.

On my eighth birthday, my reluctant, slightly embarrassed father gave me an intricately wrapped present.

He had no idea what was inside, I’d have bet my life on that.

Right on cue, he smoothed down his tie and checked his watch. I already knew this was code for “hurry up, I’ve got better things to do.”

Carefully, I tore open the present, and in my hands, felt a soft, pillowy stuffed animal. Praying to every magical being, I lifted the present from its confines.

It was beautiful. The most wonderful, most promising present I ever had. It was a unicorn, with a snowy coat, a rainbow mane and a shining silver horn. I clasped it tightly, muttered my thanks and my father took his cue to leave.

My heart felt oddly full, and warm.

Finally, I had a real friend, a true confidant with whom I could share my hopes and dreams. Not only that, but I could finally show those non-believing friends of mine that this was proof. Proof indeed that magic was real.

It wasn’t long before the unicorn and I became best friends, talking to each other beneath the covers, pretending to camp under the stars. She was just like me, pure, wholehearted and loving. Best of all, she was a real source of magic. She’d wiggle her nose, toss her head and shoot beams of the most vibrant purple out of her shimmering horn.

She could make the most amazing things happen. Magic cupcakes at midnight, make us soar through the evening skies and, sneak rat poison into my father’s food.

That Friday at school, we were allowed to bring in one toy. So naturally, I brought her, my pride and joy. I tossed and turned the night before, buzzing with excitement to finally show them.

Some of the girls “oohed” and “aahed” at her, exactly like I’d wanted. They begged to hold her but I had to refuse. She was too precious.

“That isn’t magic.” Said Melanie, at the top of the climbing frame, her brow furrowed.

“No?” I smirked. “Watch this.” And I gazed in awe as a powerful force knocked her small, stupid body onto the ground far below.

Now, some idiot children swore blind they saw me push her, and caused her to break her back. But it wasn’t me. It was the unicorn.

The principal called my father, but couldn’t quite get hold of him.

Now you see, don’t you?

Magic does exist.