1I have a pet alicorn. Her name is Celeste. She is a white horse with a rainbow colored mane that sparkles in the sun's rays, with a long, seashell shaped horn about ten inches high. She has eyes green like emeralds, and her hooves are pink like pearls. Her wings are large, spreading out far and wide when she ascends into the sky, majestic like the wings of an eagle.
I found her injured in the Moon Forest once on a frigid winter day. She had her wing stuck in a tree and couldn't get it out. I managed to take it out, take her to my castle, and patch it up. She watched me go about my day, and was surprisingly okay with me taking care of her wing, like she trusted me with her whole heart. When it healed, she remained at the castle.
Celestia eats lots of things a typical horse eats: oats, hay, grass. But she especially loves carrots and lettuce. She always whinnies happily whenever I would bring her a fresh carrot, and keeps nudging her head against me for more, even after I would run out. Celestia sleeps in a big stable just for her, made large to accommodate her large wings, and she's the only one in it because I don't want her wings hitting other horses by accident.
I don't know why she chose to stay with me. Was it because she grew to like me? I wasn't sure. But the love between us expanded every year. I grew to love everything about Celestia. The way she'd nudge me when I came into her stable to say hello. The loud whinnies she would make when I asked her to take me for a ride in the sky. The way her hooves would gallop when I would ride her on the ground. The graceful way she spread her wings out and ascended into the sky. The way she would sit down with me when she would see me reading a book under a tree or sitting on the bridge.
The fact that she trusted me enough to let me cry into her fur after I had a bad day only solidified it. She allowed me to express my vulnerable side, something nobody else who was involved with me wanted to see. She understood me better than anyone else, and that was all I ever wanted.