Sybil descended from a long line of clairvoyants, a lineage of which she was quite proud. Both her mother and grandmother spent countless hours with Sybil, practicing with her, teaching her but she just didn’t get it. Sybil wasn’t interested in the casting of spells or seeing into the future. What she liked was the healing aspect of it. Using herbs, paying attention to the moon phases and Nature in order to heal people and animals, are what interested her.
She was a healer. Well, a wannabe healer.
If only she could write things down! Sybil’s memory was like a strainer. She’s lucky to have remembered her name and where she lived. That’s an exaggeration, but you get the idea. In any case, clairvoyants were not allowed to write anything down. Everything they ever learned and knew was by oral edification passed down through the generations. Keeping tangible records of spells and such was a good way to provide proof that one was a clairvoyant, opening said person up for negative attention, harassment, and worse.
So, once it became clear that Sybil wasn’t cut out for a life of sorcery, Sybil’s grandmother, Tatiana, began to investigate. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Ever! When daughters were born into this family, no doubt about it they had the gift and knew how to use it. Or at least a general idea.
And come to think of it, Sybil didn’t look like anyone in the family. She didn’t have the curly hair, beak-like nose, or unusually large and cumbersome rear end. Plus, she had a sense of humor. Nobody in the family had a sense of humor but Sybil was a laugh riot. People would laugh their butts off even if they didn’t get the joke. Sybil was just plain funny.
Luckily, after doing a bit if research, Tatiana learned that the midwife who attended Sybil’s birth was still alive. She put herself in a trance in hopes of discovering the woman’s address. Within a matter of minutes, as per usual, Tatiana had all the information she needed. The midwife lived nearby, within walking distance, even, and her name was Lilith.
Tatiana arrived at Lilith’s flat and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” A drunk voice demanded over a game host show on the television.
“Sybil’s grandmother.”
Lilith cut the TV off and mumbled something Tatiana couldn’t make out but sounded like ‘bloody hell.’ She waddled to the door, beer in hand, and opened it.
“I’ve been expecting you for years,” Lilith nodded.
“And why might that be, Lilith?” Tatiana asked, feigning innocence.
“C’mon in.” Lilith turned to walk away. “You want a beer?”
“No, thank you.” Tatiana quietly closed the door behind her. “Where’s my granddaughter?”
Lilith shrugged. “I don’t — “
“My real granddaughter!” Tatiana interrupted.
Lilith blanched at Tatiana’s tone of voice. “Okay, okay.” Lilith sighed.
“Here’s what happened.” Lilith downed the rest of her beer. “I used to drink a lot. Actually, I still do, as you can see.”
“I see that, yes.”
“There was another woman who’s birth I attended that night, Bianca was her name. The babies, both girls, were born at nearly the same time, within minutes. I was rushing back & forth between your daughter’s house and Bianca’s, after I’d drunk several beers, and I don’t know … somehow the babies got mixed up.”
“Somehow?” Tatiana raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, I mixed ’em up. I am so terribly sorry.”
“Never mind the apologies,” Tatiana put her hand up. “Just tell me where my granddaughter is.”
“Two streets over, last house on the left,” Lilith explained. “Bianca died that night, after giving birth,” she began to cry. “I know it was my fault; I just know it!”
“Who raised the child?”
“The girl’s father. He died a couple of years ago in a chariot crash.”
“What is her name, Lilith?” Tatiana asked gently.
“Calixta.” She blew her nose. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I am going to tell Calixta that she has a family, and a twin sister named Sybil. I will tell her that a mistake was made but now, thanks to the gods, everything has been made right.”
“And what about Sybil?”
“That’s going to be a bit tougher. Sybil is pretty smart, but she does have a sense of humor.”
Whatcha think?