The Legend of Callista Leventhrop
A/N: This is a legend, folk-tale, fable, myth, fairy tale, whatever you want to call it. The author figured, "Well, if all of those other people in the 500 AD's and such were able to make awesome stuff like King Arthur, Robin Hood, and a million other stories, then I guess it can't be that hard, right?" This author, however imaginative, was wrong. These take forever to write, if you're doing a life story like this one is. But, all in all, they're very fun to write!
To tell this story properly, it takes days. If you don't tell this story properly, you will never understand it and be hopelessly lost, even if you start over from the beginning. So, this author suggests starting from the beginning and progressing through this legend properly, which would be reading the pages or telling the events in order. The author cannot stress this enough. Please, for the sake of your understanding of this story, save the skipping around until after you have read the legend once or twice in order. Please.
Chapter One: The Beginning of Callista's Life
When Callista was born, it was a cold, snowy night. Her mother had checked into a small hotel for the night, as the area was expecting a blizzard that night and a snow-in for a week or so. Her mother had been reading in a chair by the fire in the lobby, for she couldn't go to sleep. Callista had been born exactly when the clock struck midnight, with the snow falling furiously outside and the occasional chunk of hail battering one of the windows. Callista wasn't known as Callista yet, though, but was instead called Lynn. Her mother had left about an hour after midnight, and on her way to rush out the door, when the woman who owned the hotel, Rose, called out, "Wait! What will you name the child? Who will care for her?" The mother replied, "Call the child Lynn, and as to who cares for her, it doesn't matter to me." Rose was about to object, to try and convince the mother to stay, or at least take Lynn with her, but before another word was said, the heavy oak door of the lodge was slammed shut. Rose felt sorry for the child, whose mother had abandoned her, but Rose also felt sorry for the woman, who would never get to raise her child. Rose assumed that some bad sort of circumstance had prevented the unknown woman from keeping Lynn, because what sort of mother would leave their newborn child with a total stranger, only caring to give a name before leaving forever? Lynn was a loud child, and would almost never be quiet, between crying for attention and eventually talking non-stop. Rose found the small child's ramblings amusing. The only hope of Lynn being quiet was when she was sleeping, and even then she would mutter and mumble occasionally. Rose took care of Lynn for awhile, until circumstances forced them apart. Lynn was raised as Rose's child, but Lynn was always aware that she wasn't Rose's real child, and Rose made this clear from the beginning. She also told Lynn, even from the very beginning, about how her mother's brief stay at the lodge. Rose thought that the less surprises that Lynn suffered about her past, the better for the child. Lynn appreciated how honest Rose was with her, even though Lynn was, when she first was told, only an infant. Rose continued telling the story, so that Lynn would actually comprehend it, until Lynn was about two, and the story was imprinted into her mind. Rose had no wish to deceive the child, and also thought that it was Lynn's right to know.
When Lynn was five, her mother returned to the lodge, in the middle of summer, with the sun beating down on the little, almost isolated, lodge. Rose didn't recognize the woman at first; she looked more important, more regal, and more beautiful, although in a cold sort of way. Lynn, of course, didn't recognize her mother, for she hadn't even gotten a look at the woman before she rushed out the door. This encounter between Rose and the woman was similar to the last; as soon as the woman's second child was born, she rushed out the door, and Rose stopped her for a second, saying, "Wait, wait! Who will care for the child? What is her name?" And the woman replied just before slamming the heavy oak door, "Call the child Rowan, and as to who cares for her, it does not matter to me." The door was shut, and the woman strode down the road, for it was broad daylight this time, so the woman was visible, as opposed to her disappearing into the blizzard like before. But before the woman had gone three yards, she turned back and opened the door again, to add a last few words. "And let the children know that they are sisters, for I am the same woman that came before, in the blizzard that night, five years before." Rose gasped, for now that it had been mentioned, this woman bore some resemblance to the first, but only barely.
Lynn and Rowan bore almost no resemblance to each other, though. Lynn was tall for her age, with raven black waist-length hair that fell in loose tresses. She had electric blue eyes, high cheek bones, an oval face, a straight nose, dark lashes and brows, and freckles splashed across her cheekbones and nose. Lynn had been born in the middle of a record setting white-out, on December 15th. Rowan, on the other hand, was of average height, with red coppery hair that was thin and fell to about eight or so inches past the shoulder. Her eyes were hazel, with flecks of gold in them, an oval face, button nose, and freckles all over. Rowan had been born in the middle of a sweltering heat wave, on July 15th. The only similarities between the two girls was their deceivingly slim stature, for at meals they ate double the amount originally given to them, and were capable of tasks that required strength. They were both quick learners, and were very clever and loyal. Lynn was the more outgoing of the two, whereas Rowan was slightly milder and quiet. Rose raised the two girls as her own, and like Lynn, Rowan knew from the beginning about her origins.