A Desire Named Calysta

Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain,
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Proverbs 31:30, ESV –

Calysta, 18 — A wild maiden and her tamed beast were desperate to claw their way out of her head. These figments of fiction weren’t merely knocking on her imagination’s door — they were attempting to kick it down, claw marks and all. They needed to escape her mind’s void so they could morph into something tangible, something seen.

Calysta Daniels gritted her teeth — an act of defiance against the stray winter breeze disrupting her valley’s spring. Her fingers tightened around the sharpened pencil. Not even the unwelcome chill could make her budge from her seat. If she had to spend the entire afternoon beneath the old linden tree of Harmony Hills School, then so be it. No one would be able to drag her from that spot, not until all her will power could move the wildling and her wolf companion from head to paper. How else would others bear witness to the stories living within her?

She knew what to do. She just had to do it. She couldn’t do it.

Calysta Daniels. Storyteller wannabe. Failure.

She pressed the tip of her pencil against the blank sheet on top of the tattered sketchbook. The empty page mocked her with its formlessness. One stroke was all it would take to begin, but which direction did it need to go? Whichever way she picked, there her pencil went, but instead of a recreation of her vision, Calysta ended up with words instead.

Not all damsels are in distress and in need of saving.

The scribbled words were her heroine’s war cry, not hers — a statement she had not so long ago believed to be true. What a difference the past three years had made! Her heart swelled with gratitude, enough to straighten her furrowed brows and lift the corners of her lips.

Why so downcast, oh my soul?

Calysta turned her frustration into prayer, tuning out the distant chatter of her schoolmates and the delighted squeals of children in the nearby elementary school playground. Her God-ward thoughts called for the adoration of a Creator Who could make a world out of formlessness and void. Her sketch faded into the scenic backdrop of Lumaire Valley’s sprawling hills and snow-capped mountains, as she thanked God for the beautiful home and community He had given her.
Multiple camera clicks disturbed her delight in God’s good earth. The distinct whiff of men’s cologne few could afford signaled the arrival of Lance Madison, constant capturer of all her candid moments.

Calysta’s breath caught in her chest.

He stepped onto the bench next to her and sat on the table to face her. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Her pulse raced. He tousled his sandy blond hair with his fingers and somehow made it look more styled. Effortless, his life; opposite of hers. He flicked his brows at her and lifted the camera. “Another one.”

She shook her head and stifled a smile. “Unbelievable.”

“It’s perfect.” The dimple on his cheek made it difficult for her to feign annoyance over the stolen shot. “Another one for my collection.”

“Yeah?” Calysta stretched her neck to take a peek. “Which one?”

“Cranial Astronaut.”

“Right.” Why had she even asked? Of course it was the one with snapshots of her staring into the abyss like a poetic goldfish.

Lance knocked his knuckles against the mostly empty page on her sketchbook. “You said you were here to create art. Have you been staring at nothing all this time?”

She gestured toward the stunning view provided by their hilltop school grounds. “How is that nothing?”

He paused to take the sight in. “It’s definitely something,” he said. “If only I could say the same thing about your art, no? Not much there yet.” He swirled his finger around the whitespace where the start of a sketch should have been. “What did you scribble on top? Not all damsels—”

“It’s nothing.” Calysta closed her sketchbook to hide the words.

“That’s what I said.” Lance lifted a shoulder. “You’ve been doing nothing.”

If it had been anyone else, she would’ve already been annoyed, but somehow, the casual way by which he had said it coaxed out her laughter. “No need to rub it in, you know. I was supposed to draw a wolf and a wildling.”

“What is with you and wolves?”

“My amma used to call Chelidon an island of wolves.”

“Appropriate.” He shrugged. “I’ve met quite a number of wolves here, and then there are people like you.” He chucked her jaw with his thumb. “Lambs.”

She raised a brow. “No longer a duckling?”

“Same thing. Just as innocent. But—” he smirked as he let his piercing stare stay on her face “—duckling hasn’t been appropriate in a while. You’ve turned out to be quite the swan.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

The way his eyes lingered made her think of a wolf. That made her feel guilty. Lance had always been a wonderful friend. He had respected her boundaries all these years, but she couldn’t help but notice the wanting in his gaze. She needed to deflect.

“Right, but I doubt being a lamb, duckling, swan, or whatever other form of livestock will help me finish these sketches.” She let out an exaggerated huff and playfully bumped her forehead against the sketch pad, her nose pressed by the wooden table, her hair covering her head. “This is agony. It’s like I keep forgetting my muse in bed. It only seems to come to me just before I go to sleep. Lazy muse. Always in bed.”

“As an avid fan of your art, Cal, it’s frustrating to me, as well. I’ve been waiting to see more of it, like I’ve been waiting to see—” he brushed her hair up, so he could see her face “—more of you.”

She gulped. What was he doing? Was this still about her art? His dimples, his long lashes, the way a strand of his blond hair fell loosely over his eye. He had only gotten more attractive over the years, and it was getting harder to keep him in the friend zone.

“Why is it that you make the best art when you’re absent-minded and doodling, but you can’t seem to produce anything when you’re intentional about it?”

“Ahhh…” Calysta tilted her head to face him, her temple now pressed against her sketch pad’s glossy cover. “The mysteries of life, yeah? ”

Lance’s gaze smile faded slightly as his eyes softened. He muttered something under his breath — she only caught the tail end: “everything about you.”

“Huh?”

He shook his head as if to clear a thought. “Never mind. Come on. Let’s go.”

“Go where? Class doesn’t start for another half hour. I can still—”

“Calysta, seriously.” He tapped her closed sketchbook. “Can you?”

Did he have to make her so aware of her inability to create? “Fine then.” She released a breath and relented. “Where’s Malaya?”

“Where do you think?”

If it was amusement or irritation in his tone, Calysta couldn’t tell. After Malaya Cortez, the other member of their trio, had gotten into a relationship, Lance and Calysta had spent more time together over the past three months than they had for the past three years. A younger version of herself would have been over-the-moon giddy. This version was just grateful to have him as a best friend.

She finished collecting her things inside her worn leather backpack. Lance brushed his hand against her elbow to lead her back to their school building, but before they could get anywhere, his nose wrinkled at her old stuff. A small shake of his head emphasized his disapproval.

Calysta shuffled on her feet and shifted the bag’s strap on her shoulder. She gave him a small smile. “It’s still functional.”

“You deserve so much better than what he’s able to give.” His hand found hers and squeezed it tight.

The ease by which he held her hand and the hint of disdain toward her amma left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Lance didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he grunted and pulled her toward the old linden tree instead of back to their high school’s main building. Once beneath the tree, he guided her to lean against the trunk, where he positioned himself in front of her — too close for her comfort. Her eyes fixed on his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, her pulse quickening. Something about the intensity in his eyes sent a mix of warmth and unease through her. A faint recollection of a past acquaintance — handsome and strong — drifted across her mind, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. Her throat dry, she couldn’t quite speak out the questions running through her mind.

“Arghanto, Calysta,” Lance said, his tone breathless. “Exaspera.”

“Me? Trouble?”

“Yes. You. Exaspera.”

“What’s going on, Lance?”

This newfound intensity was uncharacteristic of him, his stare heightening her sense of his proximity. He tightened his jaw as his thumb grazed the corner of her lips. Her heartbeat sped up and threw countless alert signals at her brain, which — traitor that it was — went running through every rom-com cliché she’d sworn she was above. His mouth opened, and for a moment, she both dreaded and anticipated the possibility of her first kiss.

To her relief, he backed away, tugging at the hem of his blue Henley before pocketing his hands in his jeans as if trying to put constraints on himself. His eyes roved the space between them, like he was doing everything in his power not to look at her.

“Look,” he said. “I know you don’t want to date. I watched you turn down every guy who has ever asked you out, but I can’t help it, okay? Senior year is almost over. We’ll be graduating soon, and I won’t be able to forgive myself if—”

“Lance, please.” She shook her head. Her soft-spoken plea was a warning for him not to pour his heart out to her.

A warning Lance ignored.

“Ami mira saña ta, Calysta.”

She knew little of the native language of the country she called home, but she understood the words clearly. Spoken in Cilarchi, it carried a lot more weight than if he had said it in English: “I’m so into you, Calysta.”

“I can’t help it,” he added. “I tried not to fall for you, but how can you not see how perfect we are together?” He took a few steps forward, and they were back to where they had started, with her back against a tree trunk and him hovering over her, his words only emphasized by the way he was looking at her, like he desired her, like she belonged to him.

However, a quiet rumble of conviction reminded her of a commitment she had once made to herself — a promise to guard her heart and wait. She lowered her eyes to gather the right words to say to him.

As if threatened by her bowed head, Lance drew even closer and leaned his forehead against hers. He caught a stray tendril of her hair between his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. “I tried hard to fight it, believe me, but I’m done fighting. We’ve danced around this for years, haven’t we? Give us a chance, Calysta. Let me show you that this goes much deeper than just a fleeting crush. I’ll do right by you, I promise. Let me take care of you.”

She believed he could, if she would let him. The Madisons were one of the most influential and affluent families in Lumaire. Lance could see her well taken care of and provided for. Being his girlfriend would give her status, stability, a future her father couldn’t yet afford to give, but was all of that what she was looking for?
Calysta had long ago decided her loyalty belonged to One, and Lance was not one among those who followed the God to Whom she had surrendered her life. A deep sense of loss filled her as she faced the reality of what this could mean for her, because her choice was clear.

As much as she wanted to say yes, her guarded heart prevented her from doing so. She could only hope that the tremble in her voice would tell him how much this was breaking her heart. “Nari, Lance. I can’t. Ami cencia, but it would be selfish of me to say yes when I know I’m not ready for a relationship. Our friendship is too important for me to hurt you by saying yes. Please understand.” She reached out to touch his arm, but he scoffed and pulled away from her, like her touch suddenly burned.

The school bell rang. He didn’t seem to hear it as he cussed in the two predominant languages of Ancoria.

A tear traveled the length of Calysta’s cheek. The very real threat of losing her best friend made her want to take it all back, to replace her kind nari to a sweet karo — a yes that would promise him a chance she shouldn’t give.

“Lance, we’ll be late for class,” she said with a slight quiver in her voice.

He paused, clenched his jaw, and nodded. He glanced at her and smiled. “I’ll wait for you, saña. I’m not giving up.” He twisted on his heel to face her fully. “You’re im saña. You’re my desire. I’ll prove it to you, Calysta. You belong with me.”

Lance’s sudden confession had somehow made her a damsel so desired, it distressed her how much she might need saving from herself and the fact that Calysta desired him, too.

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