The Legend of Sakura Claus


Author's note: Hi! I am so very happy about this story! I was inspired by a wonderful book called 'The legend of Holly Claus' by Brittney Ryan and illustrated by Laurel Long, and I thought why not make a story based on this book? I highly recommend this book! Ok so if you like adventure, drama, a little bit of everything, and of course the most important thing: romance; this is the story to read! Ok I am going to do a disclaimer since I've never done one before:

Disclaimer: I do not own Cardcaptor Sakura. Nor do I own this story plot. I don't really own anything… except my characters!

Anywho I hope you…


Summary: When one special little boy writes to Santa Claus a miracle happens: Santa and Mrs. Claus are blessed with a daughter! But the birth of Sakura Claus brings about a curse. She grows into a beautiful and selfless young woman and escapes to the moral world, where she will face countless dangers, adventures, and a miracle all on her own.



New York City, 1878

It once used to be a grand house, but not anymore. The ballroom where ladies in pink and blue dresses swirled around in man's arms, was gone, and replaced with three apartments. The rooms were divided into many slots overflowing with children, who did not get enough to eat, mother's who scrimped around and made do, and fathers who left before dawn and came back well after midnight.

Ten year old Syaoran, alone in a sliver of an apartment near the top, was wholly absorbed in the smooth wood in his small hands, his eyes fixed on the creature he saw trapped inside. Steadily, precisely, he carved it out.

Outside, it grew darker, and icy rain began to fall. Inside the sound of wailing babies and sour smell of spoiled soup flew through the flimsy walls.

Absorbed in the magic of making, Syaoran noticed none of it. He began to see pointed wings and ridiculous triangular feet. A curving pull of the blade and a beak began to form. Sitting back in his chair, Syaoran looked at his creation and laughed. It was the most oddest bird he had ever seen.

Just then the sitting room door opened quietly, and Syaoran's mother, Yelen, stepped in quietly. Her shoulders hunched against the cold, but her face showed great beauty, in her enormous black eyes. As she took off her shawl, she glanced at her son's intent face and, as if to ward off danger, rested her hand on his head for a moment. Then hurried away to make supper in the dim corner, they called a kitchen.

She then spotted a written letter and envelope lying near the chair and smiled at Syaoran's awkward handwriting. She silently lifted the letter and began to read.

Syaoran's eyes were on his bird as he spoke. "Mother? What do you suppose I saw today over at Stuyves-" He broke off when he saw tears on her face. "What's wrong?" He asked anxiously. His mother shook her head. "Your letter, love. It's your letter that makes me cry. But they are not sad tears."

Syaoran looked at her doubtfully. "The letter? But didn't you tell me all children wrote letters to Santa Claus at Christmas time?" Asked Syaoran. "Why would it make you cry?" His mother dropped to her knees in front of him. "Tell me what you see in this room."

Syaoran looked around the sitting room. "A wooden table, your chair, a lamp with a beautiful glass, my books. Lots of books." He smiled. "You." He leaned into his mothers arms. "And it's enough, darling?" Whispered Yelen.

Syaoran looked at her with questionable eyes. "Enough? I don't understand," He answered slowly. "This is home. This is where you are. It's more than enough." Without another word, Yelen tightened her hold on him, and held him for a long time. Then she rose to her feet, folded the letter back into its envelope, and slipped it into Syaoran's pocket.

"Mrs. Sip at the bakeshop, my love, has been kind enough to extend our account for another week. Will you please go and get a loaf of bread, or shall I send the butler?" Syaoran frowned judiciously. "The butler is getting fat and lazy, mother. He's an awful lazy fellow. So I suppose I better go myself."

"And where's your scarf, then?" Yelen said as she caught his arm. "It's dreadfully cold." She could keep her voice cheery, but her eyes betrayed her.

Syaoran put on the woolen muffler around his neck. "I'll be fine. It's a warm scarf. I'll put it over my head if I get cold," He said, watching his mother's face. "I promise." "Don't forget to post your letter!" Reminded his mother, as the door closed behind him.

Syaoran stood at the door bracing himself, just as he always did. Just like always he reaches into his pocket to touch his father's watch. It didn't matter that the watch hadn't worked for almost a year. It had stopped right after his father died, and there was no money for repairs. His father could have done it; he loved intricate mechanisms.

Syaoran stared into space, remembering his father bent over a tiny broken toy. Syaoran wrapped his hand around the watch tightly; it was fine the way it was.

Oh, the cold! It was freezing, but Syaoran leaned into the wind, for he knew there was no point in being afraid, it'll only make things worse. You had to act as though you weren't cold. You had to step lively instead of hover near the walls-

Syaoran stopped, ignoring his own rules. He wasn't cold.

He looked around him; there were all the people pushing past him, freezing. But he wasn't. Syaoran looked toward the Bowery, were all the gaslights were gleaming, and then at the darkness of Second Avenue. By logic, his feet would already be numb, but no. Happy, Syaoran walked to the postal box and dropped his letter in. Time seemed to stop. Suddenly, a great wave of warmth rolled through him, a velvety liquid warmth that coursed throughout his whole body. It had no source, no end, and standing there in the dark, cold street, Syaoran knew that something extraordinary had just happened to him.


In Forever, the Land of Immortals, the first snow flakes were always silver. Father Christmas watches it dance through the air to the ground. Then soon more followed. Soon the stairs, terrace, and gardens were cloaked in snow. The stone nymphs that lolled in the reflecting pool reached up their graceful arms and caught feathery crystals in their palms. The bronze horses at the top of the clock tower touched noses and whined.

The trees usually so stiff, forgot themselves and began to sway to an unknown rhythm.

Father Christmas- who is known to some as Nicholas Fujitaka Claus or Santa Claus- flung open the windows with great happiness. Yes, its finally here! Impulsively, he leaned as far out as he possibly could, from his window, and caught a handful of snowflakes. He spun around and hurled them into the room.

"Ahem!" A sorrowful-looking goblin brushed at snow from his jacket.

"Oh! Clow! Sorry, old friend! It's the first snow! And do you know what that means?" Without waiting for a reply, Fujitaka, as everyone he knew called him, answered. "It means that the Christmas season has begun!"

"It means there are letters to read, lists to make, and-" Clow was cut off by Fujitaka. "Letters? Are they here? Oh, Clow, you know how much I love the letters!" A smile formed on his face. "That's where the magic really begins. When they write the letters, they believe in something they cannot see, touch, or hear. Even if for a few minutes they move beyond themselves. Don't you agree?"

Clow snorted lightly. "I'm sure I don't know. Well the dragons have delivered four hundred pounds of letters. And they are spilling all over the floor."

"Clow!" Boomed Fujitaka, as he put his face in front of the goblin.

"Ye-s-s, your m-majesty?" Stammered Clow.

"Cheer up!" "If you say so." Clow said sighing lightly and scurrying away.

"Oh dear. Goblins are such sorrowful creatures. At least they are well organized and kind-hearted souls." Laughed Fujitaka to himself.

He strolled over to his study room, to read the letters. On one side, the windows were showing him of the snow storm, but on the other, mirrors where supposed to be reflecting the storm but the Boucane sisters, the tiny fairies, liked to play tricks, so for their own amusement, they put a spell on the mirrors to show silvery water. Good thing Fujitaka didn't mind. He liked the Boucane sisters. Unlike goblins they were untidy and hopeless at cleaning. But they were so kind and made delicious nectar with their flowers. Such a pity they never could remember how to make the same drink twice.

Clow was right. The study room was filled to the top with letters. There were some in creamy envelopes and some were in raggedy newspapers. Letters from all over the world swam in the room.

Fujitaka smiled with satisfaction. He sat down; thankful that the place was already situated for him. He reached over and plucked a random letter from a sack. He read, "Der ClaZ, Clarens has a hors. I want Won to. I Lov you. Miles." Smiling, Fujitaka scribbled a note on a scroll.

Fujitaka picked up another. "Dear Mr. Claus, I am good in health, and hoping the same for you. Stella says you're not real. But I think you are. I would like to have a doll. My last doll drowned last summer. I cried real tears. I do hope you bring another for me. Thank you. Kaho."

"You know she dropped the doll into the well." Came a calm voice, from the corner. Fujitaka glanced over to the speaker. A golden wolf laid on a cushion, not to far from his seat. "Yes I know; but I have a feeling, she will be with us for a long time. Maybe forever." Kero, the golden wolf, sighed lightly. "We've lost Stella, though. Such a pity." Fujitaka sighed sadly, but then smiled. He reached for another letter, but his mind lingered on Kaho. How he was going to mourn, when she stopped writing. No, he scolded himself, he would have the pleasure of watching her story unfold. That's the way it was supposed to be.

The carved clock ticked away, throughout the afternoon. The snow swirled around the windows in feathery plumes. The warm fire crackled and popped. Kero, fully asleep, sighed comfortably. Santa read every letter. Many of them made him smile; some laugh; but each was precious to him. One child, a kind-hearted child, wanted a doll; a boy admitted he was bad about his cat, and wanted a train set. On and on it went, thousands and thousands of children, each alive to possibilities and dreams.

The door opened, and two bright green eyes peeked around the edge. "Tea?"

Fujitaka looked up, pleased at the interruption. "Nadeshiko! Yes, of course, tea! Come in! Sit down!" He waved his arms to indicate that she could have any chair she pleased. "We'll find a spot for you, my love! Come in!" Nadeshiko cleared a little place, near the desk. She placed a tray of tea and freshly baked cookies, down on the overly crowded desk, and poured some into their cups. She then sat down and began to sew. She took her pin out of her raven colored hair, then jabbed it back into place. Then she stood. "I'll tidy up a bit."

This was a ritual. Every year, Nadeshiko came in and tidied up the over flowing mess of letters. She acted as though he didn't need the help, and he pretended not to notice. He kept his head over the letters, while she tidied up.

The dragons must have thrown the bags into the room, Nadeshiko thought, pulling a bundle of letters from under the sofa cushions. There was one on top of a picture frame. She stood on a stool to get it. She also spotted another on top of the clock. Good gracious! A very wet letter. Poor thing, must have written it in the pouring rain. I'll look under the huge rug. I do hope there are none from last year-

A sudden hoarse sound interrupted her thoughts. She looked up startled, and saw something she had not seen since her mortal life ended centuries before: her husband's tears. In his hands he held a thin sheet of paper, and Nadeshiko wrapped her arms around his shoulders, he silently held it up for her to read.

"Dear Santa Claus," It began. "You know I have never written. I could never think of anything I needed or wanted for Christmas. But this year I had a different idea. What do you want for Christmas, Santa? You always answer children's wishes, but what about your own? Isn't there one thing in the world that you wish for but do not have? If you will post a letter back to me, I will do all I can to bring your dream to life. Respectfully, Your friend, Syaoran C- L."

"Well," Said Nadeshiko softly. "Well."

"No one-" Fujitaka cleared his throat. "No one has ever asked me what I wish for."

"He's a very special boy, that's clear," Said Nadeshiko. The gently, "Do you have a wish?"

"Me?" He looked at her in confusion. "Me?" "Yes, you. You who give children their dreams. Do you remember your dreams?" "Sometimes," Said Fujitaka slowly, reaching back into lost time.

"Do you dream of a child?" Nadeshiko whispered.

"A child?" Fujitaka went still. Isn't one thing in the world that you wish for but do not have? That you wish for? Yes, of course, of course! Like a great, golden wave of sunshine, a wish burst upon him in a shower of light. A child. He wanted a child, a child who would make their life complete, who would share the love that streamed between his heart and his wife's. He looked at the letter that his wife held. How could he not have known? Astonishing, astonishing that this flimsy piece of paper with a child's scrawl had the power to change everything. Entwining his fingers with Nadeshiko's, he looked across the cozy room to the snow-covered world outside and realized that this was a letter that would change the Land of the Immortals for all time.


Well I hope you like it! I am so excited for this story! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! Thank you so much for reading! Please review! If you have any ideas, questions, comments, ect. please let me know! Thank you so much! Please review:)