In a realm where light is a forgotten myth, a colossal structure of interconnected, obsidian honeycombs rises from the inky void, casting an eternal shadow across the landscape. Within this world of pure darkness, a unicorn emerges, its coat as black as the void itself, its horn a spire of polished onyx. The unicorn moves with a silent grace, its hooves barely disturbing the dust, its form a sharp contrast to the harsh geometry of the black honeycomb that surrounds it. Its mane and tail, made of flowing obsidian, seem to absorb all light, its eyes are like pools of liquid shadow, reflecting the emptiness of this world. The air is heavy with an oppressive stillness, a sensory reminder of the absolute solitude that permeates this place. This is a vision of the impossible, where the purity of a unicorn finds itself in the heart of darkness, a testament to the enduring power of myth even in the face of utter void