Midnight's Daughter

This story grew out of "The Local Vintage", my entry for the 2024 750 words competition, which appears in an expanded form here.

The setting is Lake Iseo in Northern Italy. I've played fast and loose with some of the geography, and the history is likewise abridged and moulded. If you're a Classicist or an Archaeologist by profession - sorry, not sorry :)

Thanks again to the lovely Jackie.Hikaru, whose suggestions are always so wise. Go and read her stories immediately, or else.

The sound of laughter and raised voices were what first roused me.

I was basking in my usual place on the little protruding ledge of the age-tumbled boulder in the shallows that I'd carefully smoothed and enlarged to catch the morning sun.

I turned my head, yawned, and peered over my folded arms at the little arc of shoreline where the locals had brought white sand from the Ligurian Sea near Genoa and poured it into the lake to form a beautiful artificial beach.

A group of young people were in the water; two men and three women, all in bathing costumes, though truthfully only charitably so in the case of the girls.

The boys were showing off, chasing one another and pretending to wrestle while two of the girls screamed and laughed and egged them on.

The third stood aside, watching the others with a wry smile. The deep maroon bottom of her two piece bathing suit kissed the water, her night-black hair clung to her tanned olive skin in delightful, messy skeins.

She shook her head, laughing loudly as one of the men tripped the other before losing his own footing and falling with an undignified splash. Then, still grinning, she turned and took a few careful steps out from the shallows before arching forward, letting her momentum carry her out into the deep sapphire stillness of the lake.

I smiled sleepily. She was by far the most beautiful of the three. Oh, the others were nice, of course - a blonde and a brunette, both slender and tanned and with the willowy grace of youth, their breasts barely-restrained behind flimsy excuses of fabric. Both were walking, breathing serenades to Aphrodite.

But Midnight's daughter was the prize of the three, and I could already tell that I would adore her.

I yawned, pulled my legs up against me, and sat up, squinting under Helios's amused, golden stare. I scratched at an itch just below my right breast and yawned again, then slowly reached out to trail my fingers through the cool, placid water.

It was warm today; calm and still, the mountains around me floating inverted on the crystal surface of Lake Iseo.

Ripples spread outward over the mirror's face as the girl swam out from shore.

She reached the Six Sisters - six glacier-fetched rocks that stood in an unlikely group on the lake floor almost within hands reach of me; two were tall enough to jut clear of the water. She climbed the gentler of the two and stood there for a moment, breathing. Then she bent forward and shook the water from her hair.

I could see the depths had chilled her because her nipples showed through the wet sheath of her swimsuit top and goosebumps dappled her flanks and shoulders.

She raised her arms carelessly behind her neck and gathered her shadowy hair behind her, heedless of the spectacle, revelling in her freedom and grinning at everything.

"Dani! Daniella!" called her friends. "Come back to us, we're lonely!"

She laughed and waved at them, and I gazed in naked, envious admiration and desire at the sun-bronzed curves of her perfect body.

What a delightful creature she was.

"Daniella," I whispered. I liked her name. It suited this lovely child of latter days.

I stood and stretched upwards towards the zenith, then bent forward to touch my toes. She'd caught the movement and turned; she stared at me over the narrow stretch of water as I straightened. Her eyes had widened; she was no doubt surprised by my partial nudity. After all, all I was wearing was a pale, translucent linen skirt for modesty and nothing else, and even the skirt showed more than it hid. My small breasts jutted from my slender body, my nipples neat and proud under the kiss of wind and the brief delight of her gaze.

I smiled hesitantly at her. She fought some sort of brief, internal battle before she smiled back and gave me an amused shake of her head that set her glorious ringlets dancing about her face.

Then she turned and dove back into the water. One of the six sisters jutted out further than people expected, I hoped she'd been careful... and then sighed, relieved. She had been. She broke the surface and began to swim a graceful, competent stroke back to where her friends were still cavorting and gaming in the turquoise shallows.

She reached them and put her feet down, then turned back once more to give me a long, direct stare.

I raised my hand and shyly waved to her, cautious of giving offence and closing this brief, unexpected moment of pleasure on a sour note.

And she seemed to pause a moment; then she grinned and waved back.

Ripples from her dive and swim had spread out over the lake; they kissed gently against my sun trap in passing.

"Who is that?" I heard the brunette ask her, the sound of her breathless curiosity travelling clearly over the water.

"A... woman. I don't know her," Midnight's daughter answered. "She's absolutely gorgeous, though - that blonde hair! Those legs! And she's very brave to be sunning herself like that around here with... so little on..."

"Mm. Blonde, brave and confident - definitely your type, Dani," the brunette agreed with a giggle. Daniella laughed and elbowed her.

My interest was immediately piqued. Could it be...

The men had both turned to stare my way. Both were grinning, one waved at me; the blonde slapped his rump and laughed as he squealed.

I turned away and self-consciously ran my fingers through my waterfall of pale hair.

It was a long time since someone had called me beautiful. So long, in fact, that the word had almost lost its meaning. I'd resigned myself to my shrinking solitude, to my isolation, to my boundaries, to this slow procession of the years that would eventually close my final chapter.

I could feel the blush on my cheeks - another sensation that I'd almost forgotten.

I knelt back down in the warm concave hollow that trapped the warmth at this time of the day, then settled onto my belly and let Helios's smile caress my back and thighs.

But my busy, wakened mind couldn't let go of her. And so I watched in envy from afar as she and her friends lounged and sunbathed and simply spent their time with one another in the happy bliss of companionship, and I listened to their distant conversation, eavesdropping hungrily on the discussion of their jobs and their lives and their love lives or lack thereof and their relationships and all the other little minutiae of their busy, bright, rich days.

Daniella was back from University in Bologna - here for the summer warmth and her family. Her friends had been elsewhere - the Diaspora, as the blonde laughingly called it. They'd all found work of sorts for the time they were back; Daniella was tending a wine bar at an upmarket if pretentious waterfront complex in Iseo on the south east shore.

I knew it well; more built up than most of the rest of the lakeside, with bright lights and a little piazza where well-dressed couples would idle and stare out at the lights that glittered on the deep, purple-black water.

Tonight would be her third night there, and so far, she said, it had been quiet. Boring, she called it. Dull. Devoid of any entertainment or even a pretty girl to admire.

I caught the wistful glance she sent my way; the others teased her and threatened to come and pester her.

And I bit my lip, intrigued, while she laughed and protested and threatened them with grave physical harm in return.

She had a lovely laugh. I closed my eyes, listening to it; she laughed freely and often. I liked that.

I missed laughter. And smiles, and warm embraces and gentle caresses...

She returned to the waters again before the group packed up and left.

She had a clear reverence to her movements - her steps, her swimming, the way she held her body all sang. She loved it here. She loved the lake and the valley. The shadows and names of this place were written on her soul.

Her brief, sun-kissed presence had thawed my long, unwanted winter. My mind was alive with desire, my heart panging bitterly for all the things I'd long considered better forgotten.

I waited until the group had squeezed into their rusty white Fiat and driven off, then stretched and rose from my little nook in the living rock.

Helios had turned his gaze to the slopes to the west. I stared across the placid indigo waters that stretched before me. And then I made my way carefully through the shallows and up the small slope to my home in the cave above the shore.

I glanced at my little shelf of gifted or found books; my rounded pebble floor, my table and my simple bed. I opened the weathered whitewashed shutters that gentle, near-sighted old Valentino had carved and joined and fitted for me in the slow, simpler years before the Great War. I trailed a finger over the rough stones of the wall that screened and sheltered my cave, whose interior was lit (these days, anyway) by a single small oil lantern in a niche that I'd lined with recovered coins - gently-polished Sestertii and Aureii that glowed gold and silver in the lamp's steady flame.

And outside - my two olive trees, my pregnant grapevines; my higgledy-piggledy neriums and - towering over all - the tall, stately descendant of one of the sacred Etruscan pines that I'd carried down from the crown of Monte Isola and planted in this spot, those many, many years ago.

My sanctum.

I touched my copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses, the green leather cover was now worn and tattered from age; it was my second-most-precious possession and I'd loved it since I'd found it left behind on a rock. The young couple who'd been reading from it in the early forties had found better uses for their time, and had forgotten it when they at length departed.

I glanced at my heart-stone, nestled as always on my carefully-turned-down pillow.

And then I stalked back outside, and sat on the small stone dais I'd built in slow, measured stages. It gave me a panoramic view of the sapphire waters below me, and had given me something to do.

Across the water lay the town of Iseo.

Full of people - young and old, man and woman - all busy with their pretty little lives that blossomed and faded like the blossoms on my neriums...

It had been an age since I'd had reason to go there. Watching people was entertaining, but my interest would pall soon enough, and melancholy would always return. So, often I found it less painful to simply avoid that which was no longer mine.

But now, there was a woman that I desired enough to venture out once more.

Daniella.

I closed my eyes, summoned a vision of her tall, graceful legs, her long, strong arms. The dark hair, the ringlets, the rich hazel-brown of her eyes. The way water had beaded on to her skin. The way her costume had clung to her, leaving so little for my imagination to do to render her naked for me. In my mind, she smiled at me, and took my hand, and loved me...

"Daniella," I said again, as I spoke her name, tasting it on the cool evening air.

A beautiful name. A beautiful woman. Tall and dark, my very favourite kind.

And, perhaps in her, I might find someone who could grow to like me. A friend.

Perhaps, if I were exceptionally fortunate, a lover.

It had been many, many years since I'd been blessed enough to have either.

The evening breeze began to fall from the heights behind me; stirring the waters and shaking the boughs of the towering pine. The leaves of my shrubs danced, the bunches of ripening grapes swung gently. Boats crossed the lake and made for their berths, their lights glowing like little gems on the deepening blue velvet.

The glow of the moon's face built behind the southern mountains. The Great mother, Selene, following Helios across the heavens, cycle after endless cycle.

I bowed my head and raised my arms high in praise to her as she crested the southern hills.

I felt her gentle touch on my skin.

My skin flashed pale, my hair from gold to silver; a moment's kiss and embrace.

And then her touch faded, and I diminished once more.

The winds ebbed; the waters calmed.

A breath, a second... and I turned, decisive.

I had a woman that I desperately needed to see again.

I clothed myself in a thin tunic of pale linen, embroidered with a geometric pattern of bright blue thread around the neck and hem. For a moment I imagined Ariadne, daughter of mighty Minos, wearing such a dress when she first saw Theseus at Knossos...

I grimaced. It was not the most auspicious story; Theseus had abandoned Ariadne, after all. But the tunic was pretty - an ancient style that never went out of style for me - still fetching because it was perfectly shaped to my form; it flowed in and out with the slender liquid curves of my body, it showed enough of my breasts to be interesting without becoming overt, and let the air breathe through it and over the smooth curves of my body beneath it.

I glanced down at my feet and thought for a moment. I should probably wear sandals. And earrings, perhaps, though the gold I sometimes favoured might be too garish for tonight.

Silver, then. Silver for Selene, silver for the night, for magic and luck, above all else, for lovers.

Because though we were not lovers, still I hoped.

I hoped for a touch, a kiss, a whisper of affection - anything to let me know that I could still be wanted.

Oh, I hoped.

And so it was, clothed and girded, that I stepped deliberately from the gentle pools of light that bathed the Piazza del Lago and climbed the time-smoothed stairs to the door of the wine bar that some poor, uneducated, unimaginative lout had named "Chianti".

I rolled my eyes at that. Chianti. The cheek. Chianti was from Tuscany; they could have named it Valtellina - that was at least a Lombardia wine...

Then I laughed at myself. Pedantry came naturally to me; I knew that I was jaded.

I paused in the doorway and took in the scene. It seemed to be a nice enough place - shining, smooth expanses of wood and glass, glittering lights like suspended stars, candles on the intimate little tables, a smooth, stone floor. Warm but quiet, made for privacy...

Daniella was behind the counter, but beside her was a man in a nice shirt who was clearly in charge.

Oh well. So much for getting her alone. I'd just have to be patient. And perhaps a little devious, though it didn't come naturally to me.

But I was gratified by the way she paused and turned to face me, and the quiet little "wow" she mouthed as she forgot herself.

I approached them, and smiled warmly at her, then tucked my hair back behind my ears and waited expectantly.

"Good evening, Signora," the man said. "What can I get you to drink?"

"A glass of wine, please. Red; from Villa Elisa if you have it."

"Of course, Signora," he answered.

Daniella tried to sneak a glance at me, looked quickly away when she caught my smile, then snuck a second, longer look.

I winked at her; she flushed and found something that she could pretend to be busy with. I liked the way her white cotton shirt hugged her, revealing nothing but loudly hinting at many things. I liked the way she'd left her hair unbound so it would avalanche down over her shoulders. I liked the subtle shade of coral-tinted lipstick, the sun-tanned olive of her skin, the warmth of her eyes...

And I liked that she was a princess and not a stuck-up, haughty, holier-than-thou queen.

"Your wine," said the man.

"Thank you."

I paid with a crumpled ten euro note that I'd found on the bank the day before. I nudged the coins from my change back towards him, I'd watched enough people to know that this was appreciated.

"Hey, thank you," he said, smiling. "But that wasn't necessary."

"It is nothing," I demurred. "Thank you for the wine."

I retreated to the long wooden counter that lined the windows and slipped onto one of the elegant stools that waited there.

I stared out into the night, tracing the movements of distant boats.

Then I closed my eyes, and let the aroma of the vineyards rise from the wine and surround me. I was intimately familiar with the sunny banks where these vines grew, down where the river flowed between the arms of the valley and out into the lake...

I inhaled; smelled the springs of prior years, the bitter winters, the floods... and twining through all of it the sunlight that had showered down on us, and the goodness of the land that surrounded the waters in this cradle within the mountains.

I sipped my wine, my toes curled with barely-suppressed pleasure.

It was a good year, this year that the winemaker had bottled and set aside for me to find tonight. I blessed him and hoped he would live a long and joyous life, surrounded by the people he loved.

And I sighed softly at the inherent bittersweetness of that blessing.

I tried to set my loneliness aside and focus on the pure liquid pleasure that was my glass of wine.

It was the simple pleasures, I found. The simple things kept me going. I was blessed that this was my space. That so little had changed over the millennia.

If I looked out over the waters, I could (dimly) see the rocks where Tanaquil had first bathed in me, and where we'd - some years later- first made love, and where I'd - years later still - held her hand and sobbed as I watched her slip away. And there, above us, the sacred ridge line where the Etruscans had buried their kings and queens... it still stood in plain sight, undisturbed by modern archaeologists, cutting a dark, mournful slash in the deep purple night sky. The ancient breakwater sang a soft song of loss as waves lapped over it; it was overlooked by everyone now. I could still remember the way the mists kissed the water when the priests of Sun and Moon had launched their boats from the shore behind it and crossed to the holy island to worship their Pre-Hellenic Pantheon in the crowning grove of sacred pines whose great-great-great-great-to-infinity-grandchildren still dappled the slopes below...

I raised my glass to my lips again and hesitated...

"You have such a pretty smile," Daniella said.

I gasped and somehow managed not to spill wine on myself or the counter.

"Oh!" she said, appalled. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, no, don't be silly, it's fine," I answered. I laughed. "I was just... remembering something and not paying attention. Goodness, you walk very quietly for such a tall girl. Hi," I said, turning towards her and smiling upwards, delighted that she'd come to me. "I'm Isea."

"I'm... Daniella," she said "Didn't I see you? Earlier today? Was that you, sunbathing, on the rocks near Il Corno?"

"Yes," I said. "I saw you. You wore a maroon bathing suit, and you swam out to the Six Sisters. We waved at one another."

"It was you!" she said. "Oh, perfect. I was nearly certain... but... well, I wasn't sure."

She glanced around; the bar was quiet. There was only one other customer - an old man who was nursing his wine while he read a book in the corner.

"Busy night?" I asked, keeping my face carefully neutral.

"Can't you see? I am run off my feet," she said, lips curling, irony dripping from her words. "I'm not sure how I'll survive."

I laughed softly. I really, really liked her

"So.... are you just visiting the valley?" she said.

"Me? Oh, no. I live here."

"Really? In Iseo?" she said, surprised.