a story about Calista getting angry
|Not many people came to visit our house. We live in the middle of nowhere. Literally. There's a reason we're called Shepherds. The one time my grandfather Quentyn visited sent the house into an uproar. We had to clean the house, which I didn't see the point in. Then again, I couldn't see what kind of a mess it was. I was eleven, and I hadn't even met my grandfather yet. He's very rich, my father said. He's my mother's father.
“He's coming!” Briony shouted, and suddenly grabbed my arm and we stood by the front door, all in a line, ready to meet our grandfather. My father opened the door. “Mr. Mercer! So good to see you!” my father said.
“Likewise, Mr. Shepherd,” my grandfather said flatly. He was not impressed; I could tell.
“These are my daughters,” my dad said insistently. “Aurelia Dawn, Briony Sage, and Calista Rose.”
Briony moved next to me, and then Quentyn took my hand and moved as if he was going to kiss it. Then he noticed something. It was probably the rose ring on my finger.
“What's this?” he said, almost angrily.
“My ring. My mother gave it to me.”
“She gave it to a blind girl?” He was still talking to me, but it was like I wasn't there. “A violet-eyed child? That's not natural, Flavian.” Tears burned in those useless violet eyes. Just because I couldn't see didn't mean that I couldn't hear or didn't exist.
“I'm here! I can hear you!” I shouted, and then ran forward, pushing through his life smudge and out the door. I was angry. I caught glimpses of black when I looked down at myself. I ran. I didn't know where. Hopefully not towards the watering hole or a cliff. This was stupid idea, but I had to get away from him.
“Calista!” Briony called. “Callie! Stop!” I don't usually like being called Callie, but Briony gets away with it a lot. Panic rose in her voice. “STOP! Calista!” I skidded to a stop, smashing my head into a huge, rough barked tree. I was suddenly very tired. I wanted to go to sleep.
Before I knew it, Briony was at my side. “Are you all right? Callie?”
I yawned. “My head hurts,” I said tiredly, my eyes closing.
Briony's hand gently felt the scratches on my head. I moved my hand to my forehead, and felt and smelled sticky sweetness that I knew was blood.
“You can't go to sleep, Calista. You can't go to sleep,” Briony's voice was edged in urgency. Sea green fear edged the bits of her life smudge that I saw when I opened my eyes. “Stay awake, you understand me? You're walking back home with me.”
I stayed awake. Barely. And when I got home, she bandaged me up and gave me a tea to drink. I stayed in my room with her the rest of the time Grandfather Quentyn was there. I never spoke to him again, and Briony made sure I didn't fall asleep. She knew these things. She kept an herb garden and knew which leaves would cure a headache or dye cloth yellow.
I, on the other hand, knew nothing of worth. I knew how to sing and make music on my whistle, but that didn't cure headaches or make clothes. I could weave and knit, but I couldn't sew, cut, spin, card, or shear wool. I could cook a little, but I wasn't allowed to do it, and I couldn't make it delicious like Aurelia could. And when it came time to clean or decorate, I was left in my room so I'd stay out of the way. I needed to stay out of the way. That was all I was good for.