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The canvas was staring at me. The image was weird, warped, and wild, but I, Maisie MacDonald, did not care. Art was supposed to be a little unhinged.

“Well, a lot unhinged when you do it, my girl,” Neysa, the Alicorn with whom I shared my soul, scoffed.

“Everybody’s a critic,” I snapped. “Tell me, NeyNey, could you do any better?”

“I don’t have opposable thumbs.”

“So, that’s a no,” I harrumphed with satisfaction.

“No, that’s not what I…”

“It’s what you implied.”

“It is not what I implied, I…”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it is not.”

“Yes, it… argh! Did you or did you not say that you did not have opposable thumbs?”

“I did, but…”

“Can you pick up a paintbrush?”

“I can’t, but…”

“Then you cannot paint, right?”

“Right, but…”

“But nothing, you can’t paint. HARD STOP. Therefore, you can’t paint anything any better than I can. So, that means you need to hush it up.”

“Why, I never.”

“You most certainly have, and you’ll do it again. It’s just how you roll, and one of the reasons we haven’t killed each other yet.”

Swiping a thick glob of midnight-purple acrylic across the rough fabric, I completely ignored the vibrant orange and pink sunset actually bleeding across the Texas desert sky. My hands were stained with charcoal and paint, my black attire was coated in dust, and my knees ached from hours of kneeling in the sand.

Next time, I’m bringing my fold-up camp chair. This kneeling shit was for the birds.

There was no doubt that I looked like a mess, which suited me just fine. It was a hell of a lot better than looking like a 'girlie girl.' Wasn’t it bad enough that I was a freakin’ Alicorn Shifter? I mean, talk about an obscure Mystical Being. Honestly, who, other than me and the rest of the MacDonald Blessing, aka a group of Unicorns, Goddess help us, even knows that the offspring of the union between a Pegasus and a Unicorn is called an Alicorn?

Nobody, that’s who. Trust me, if I had a dollar for every time I had to explain it, I would be a gazillionaire.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t give a shit who knew, or didn’t know, what I was, but it did piss me off when they assumed that every Unicorn had wings– or tried to play ring toss with my horn.

Speaking of wings, I loved mine. However, I hated that I had a glittering, shining, glowing horn that shot out of the middle of my forehead, and was not at all thrilled that every fucking Magical thing I did came with sparkles, clouds of glitter, and way too many pastel colors.

It was like a Barbie party crossed with a Bratz doll rave crossed with a My Little Pony soiree threw up all over everything. GROSS.

So, to say that I was happily covered in charcoal dust, paints, and sand was an understatement. I actually thought about taking a picture and sending it to my mom and sister. To see me sweaty, covered in grime, and aggressively avoiding anything resembling the color pink would probably throw them into a tizzy and have them staging an intervention.

“They’re just lucky I can’t get a signal on my cell phone,” I grumbled under my breath.

Getting to my feet, I stretched one way and the other to wake my butt up and get the blood flowing to my lower extremities. Taking a step back, I wiped my brow with the back of my dirty wrist and grabbed my water bottle. After downing what was left, I squinted at the painting with the hopes that I would see something worth keeping.