Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
The original fae were not nearly so kind as their image portrays today.....
It always astounded him, really, the depth of the misconception concerning unicorns.
They were not flowers and sunlight and the whiteness only a virgin could touch- but beings of blackness and ash and fire.
And the rhythm of a wild fire.
They danced to the flickers of flame, sharp edged hooves summoning sparks. Flames of campfires or flames of a city burning- it mattered not to them, the affairs of mortals.
It never mattered.
Their sounds were only that of the crackle of fire and the crunch of cooling embers, or the screaming roar of a wild fire. They danced and danced – the unwary would be caught up in the rhythm, never to stop- that's where the ever dancing red shoes came from, you know. Those humans who would be caught by the dark unicorn's dance, whirling until their feet glowed red from the sparks of stone against bone.
His laughter at the irony of the connection between fire and purity was something the others never understood.
He still wasn't sure when the image of white and sunlight overtook black and firelight, but the fire had been forgotten. But forgetting a thing did not mean that it no longer existed. And as his boots clicked and clacked alongside fiery hooves, he could only be glad that he was no mortal, to have to cease dancing when the boots and skin and muscle wore down to bone.
He would never understand how the pale gentleness came from this dark wildness.
But, for now, he would dance beside a thing long forgotten, as flames arched and his laughter joined the sounds of fire.