Because speech is silver, silence is golden
Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction, created in the imaginative voice of Weirdolight. Any resemblance to real people, products, or workplaces is purely coincidental—or perhaps just a little magical.
Hello, weirdos! 🌟
Once upon a workplace…
We met the unicorns we couldn’t have.
Now meet the ones we couldn’t keep.
A sequel whispered through glass walls and gentle silences.
That’s Why We Can’t Keep Unicorns 🦄
Because speech is silver, silence is golden
There’s a place where grown-up unicorns can work safely.
The ceilings are high, the chairs ergonomic, and the emojis in the team chat are abundant. Somewhere between the retros and psychological safety workshops, Juniper and Lucien find themselves employed by a company that calls itself a herd — but runs more like a terrarium.
The Sentiment is everywhere.
Unspoken, but ever-present. It hums in the long silences after meetings. It lingers in comment threads where everyone agrees enthusiastically with ideas no one fully understands. It’s not in the handbook, but it’s etched into the behavior of every meeting:
Let’s keep it positive.
Juniper tries.
Every day, they try.
But they don’t hide their horn — not at first.
They wear it quietly, honestly.
Not sharpened.
Not dull.
Just there.
Visible.
There are no velvet cushions here.
No lemon balm, no motivational murals. Just glass walls and color-coded workflows. And in place of gentle horn filing, there are “empathy syncs” and “pulse check-ins” and the thing no one ever quite explains but everyone knows is there:
The Sentiment.
Juniper notices it on their first day.
It’s not in the onboarding guide. Not in the orientation slides. But it buzzes beneath every conversation, like a frequency just outside hearing. Not loud. Just enough to keep everyone smiling.
The Sentiment isn’t a tool. No login. No settings.
It’s a shared instinct — half belief, half performance — that if everyone stays nice enough, soft enough, agreeable enough, nothing will break.
Or cry.
Or quit.
Lucien calls it “emotional smog”.
Juniper calls it “complicated”.
They haven’t seen each other in years, not since Softlight. But on the first day of Agile Fundamentals training, Lucien walks in — mane still wild, horn clearly visible, unapologetic. He sees Juniper. Nods once. Sits down.
Their chat thread reignites like a fire that’s been quietly waiting.
Lucien:
“They recalibrate with language now.”
Juniper:
“ Better than velvet files.”
Lucien:
“Only if you’re good at smiling while you bleed.”
That was six months ago.
***
Today, during the team sync, someone says it.
“This tool is clunky as hell.”
Juniper doesn’t look up. But they feel the room freeze.
The humming starts — The Sentiment, invisible and immediate. The air tightens like a muscle.
Then comes the voice in the chat:
“Please no tool bashing — it could hurt the feelings of the team who worked so hard on this.”
The emojis flow instantly. Applause. Sparkles. Heart-hands. Like rain on a sensor.
Juniper glances at Lucien. He’s looking at the ceiling, half-lidded, as if reading graffiti no one else can see.
They whisper through chat:
“Did you hear that?”
Lucien replies:
“Felt it.”
After the meeting, Juniper lingers. Messages come in, quiet and saccharine:
“Thanks for being quiet. That comment earlier was… harsh.”
“Glad we’re keeping things safe here. Products have owners, after all.”
“You always model such emotional intelligence.”
They want to scream. Or maybe laugh.
Instead, they write it all down in a little notebook labeled:
What We Don’t Say.
***
Once, in a retro, Lucien asks:
“Are we building software or a cult?”
Nobody laughs. Someone suggests a gratitude round.
That night, Juniper asks him if he ever thinks about going back.
“To Softlight?” he snorts. “We never left. We just call the caretakers middle management now.”
Juniper doesn’t answer.
Their horn is longer now. Harder to hide.
***
It happens on a Wednesday.
Not a dramatic meeting. Just another status update with too many slides.
Someone mentions a bug — just a note in passing. But the slide turns red.
Then blue.
Then gray.
The Sentiment detects potential negativity.
Lucien, almost casually, speaks.
“The real bug is that we’re scared to be honest with each other.”
Silence.
Not offended silence. Not even angry.
Just… confusion.
As if no one has the words for what they’re feeling. Only a sense of unsafety, like a misplaced chair or a flickering light.
Juniper doesn’t wait for the next slide.
They close their laptop.
Stand.
And for the first time since Softlight, they say it out loud:
“I think emotional safety should include the safety to speak the truth. Even when it’s sharp.”
The room doesn’t applaud.
But no one stops them when they leave.
Lucien follows them out two minutes later.
In the hallway, the hum is gone.
Just the click of real hooves on polished floor.
They walk in silence, horns catching the light like small, defiant stars.
***
One Tuesday, a colleague presents a three-hour slide deck titled Understanding Unicorns: A Foundational Guide.
The slides sparkle with bullet points like:
- Unicorns need appreciation
- Don’t make assumptions about horn size
- Every sparkle matters
Everyone claps.
Then comes the open feedback round.
Each voice rises in praise:
“Such a beautiful presentation.”
“Loved the energy.”
“A valuable reminder for all of us.”
Lucien is last.
He clears his throat and speaks gently:
“The structure and execution were solid. Really. But I’m probably not the target audience. I’ve been a unicorn my whole life. So for me, it was three hours of stating the obvious. And it’s also three hours I didn’t spend doing my actual work.”
Silence.
The manager looks visibly uncomfortable. Then he leans forward, hurt shining behind his glasses. With a soft ache in his voice, he says:
“But can’t you see how much effort your colleague put into this? That kind of dedication deserves support—not… dissection.”
Lucien just nods. A soft flick of his horn toward the door.
He folds in.
***
Later that week, Lucien is called into a meeting. Just him and the manager.
They talk about tone. About safe space. About balance.
Lucien tries — one last time.
“When I give feedback, I do it because I respect people. I assume they’re smart. Skilled. Capable.
I assume they want to grow. That they can handle truth. That they prefer it, actually.”
He leans forward.
“It’s disrespectful to treat smart adults like fragile children. To smile and post emojis and let things rot underneath.
High-performing teams don’t hide from each other. They sharpen each other.”
The manager nods, slowly.
“I hear you. I really do. But… not everyone can handle that. Some people need something gentler.”
Lucien studies him for a moment — and sees the gap.
This man has never been sharpened with love.
Never been trusted with discomfort.
Never worked in a team where truth is safety.
Lucien nods again.
“I understand.”
But he means something else entirely.
From that day on, he speaks only when needed.
***
Eventually, Lucien leaves.
He finds a small startup. Messy. Imperfect. Passionate.
They don’t have slides about unicorns.
They have unicorns.
No one flinches at his horn.
It’s grown longer now.
***
Juniper stays.
They still smile in meetings. Still write careful messages with softened edges and emojis.
They say yes when they mean maybe.
They nod when they mean hmm.
And one day, quietly, they hide their horn.
They tuck it under a new headscarf — mint green this time, with little embroidered stars.
They file it down, just a little, to soften the edge.
“Just a style change,” they tell themselves in the mirror. “Soft rebellion.”
But it isn’t rebellion.
It’s camouflage.
Compliance, scented with lavender oil.
Not gone.
Just… no longer visible. But it’s still there…
Or is it?
“A new style,” they say.
But it’s not style.
It’s surrender.
***
That’s why we can’t keep unicorns.
Because speech is silver, silence is golden.
What’s this story really about?
It might look like a quirky tale about unicorns and work meetings.
But if you listen closely, there’s something else stirring beneath the glitter and glass walls.
Maybe it’s about how silence can feel safe — until it starts to erase the voices that make a space truly alive.
About how, in trying to protect feelings, we sometimes lose the sharp, shimmering edges of honesty, art, and growth.
About what happens when we confuse comfort with connection.
Or maybe it’s about the unicorns we once were.
The parts of us that spoke boldly, stood tall, asked the hard questions — and weren’t afraid to shine a little too brightly.
What happens to those parts when we start softening, sanding, shrinking… just to fit?
This story doesn’t offer answers.
But maybe it gently whispers to us—
reminding what slips away when we silence what’s strange and true,
and what might return if we chose to listen instead.
Because unicorns don’t need taming.
They need space.
And trust.
And truth.
And when we let them speak, the whole room gets braver.
What did you hear in this story?
🖤
~ Weirdolight
