Midnight's Daughter

She stared down at my bare, exposed crotch, then glanced around wildly before she leaned in.

"Are you crazy?" she breathed. "What if someone sees?"

"You're just going to have to be very quick," I moaned. "Very quick. Take me; take me here, make me yours again... but quickly...oh... oh..."

Her fingers danced over me, her arm supported me as she kissed my ear, my throat, my shoulder...

And it felt like only seconds later that I came hard on her, arching against her, panting my little wordless gasps of pleasure into her chest.

And then she reached up to our mouths and teased her finger into mine; I groaned at the taste of myself on her skin.

"I barely touched you," she whispered, thoroughly pleased with her performance. "And yet you react like that to me."

"Can't help it. Sex with you. Is amazing," I panted. "It's... Dani, it's been so long since anyone touched me. And you do it so, so well..."

And she stifled any further words with another kiss.

Later - much later - I finally managed to convince her to leave me there in the Piazza and go home; she was grumpy about that but I promised her I'd be fine and that, anyway, I had things I needed to do early in the morning.

I kissed her until my breath ran out, and kissed her again once she'd straddled her scooter.

"Play with yourself some more and tell me about it tomorrow," I demanded.

"I'm too sore now to play with myself, and anyway you'd need to beg for the details," she laughed. She smiled at me. "Sleep well, you mad, divine woman."

"Oh, I will. I definitely will."

And I stood back and watched her turn and ride away.

My mood dipped and dimmed. Selene's thoughtful face sank towards the south-western ridges, and her silver path sparkled on the water.

I wondered how I would ever reach my lover's bed. I wondered whether I still had the strength in me to spend a night in her arms, or whether she'd wake and see me, incapacitated and fading...

"Oh, Selene, guide me," I whispered.

But the Great mother was silent.

So I turned, and made my way slowly over my lonely waters to the distant solitude of home.

Dawn.

I woke, limbs and loins still aching pleasantly from Daniella's tongue and fingers. I groaned, then smiled, clenching my thighs tightly together as I thought about my new lover.

I wondered if she was similarly tender. Frantic fumbling in whatever space presented itself, with no time to prepare - aches were a common aftertaste of that flavour of lovemaking.

I wondered if she was thinking of me.

I swung my legs from my bed and sat, considering my limited options.

I would tell her that I was... in seclusion here? That my book was one on ancient mythology? Perhaps I'd... decamped to this place to immerse myself in the history?

I paused.

It was as good a tale as any, and at least I'd... have the knowledge to back it up.

I sighed.

I hated having to hide who I was.

Perhaps...

No. No, I couldn't reveal my nature to her. Modern humans didn't react well; the ancients had at least known we were there and were accustomed to seeing us without then instantly going and medicating themselves into insensibility.

So... I'd need something - a meal. Blankets, I supposed. A bed was out of the question, there was no time. We would have to improvise. But I needed to pass as someone... at least somewhat like her.

I changed my chemise into something that approximated the clothes Daniella had worn - a tee shirt and jeans, though my jeans were a deep indigo-blue.

And then I dug into the small Cedarwood trunk that housed my treasures.

Gold and silver coins, I mused, were unlikely to be accepted. I had some Euros; not a king's ransom, but people were persistent in their attempts to lose coins and notes in the sands along my banks. Why, just last year, that wealthy Roman had fallen from his launch and lost his wallet to my depths...

I lifted the wallet from the depths of the chest, and removed ten of the crinkling notes; seventeen remained, and more would certainly come my way before Summer's end.

It would be so much easier if I could use my coins, I thought. But a sixth sense warned me against trying. There was no point in creating an event and drawing attention to myself.

I shod myself in a pair of shoes like those Dani had worn.

And then I set off for the small village of Predore which lay less than a mile away around the curve of the shore. There was a shop there that sold various things; I'd seen people walking out carrying everything from brightly-coloured buckets to jars of fruit. It would probably have what I needed.

And it did.

I bought something that the shopkeeper had explained was an inflatable sleeping pad of some sort big enough for two, some thin cotton sheets, two pillows and two blankets. He'd been bemused by me, and then amused by me, but once he'd decided I was harmless he had been extremely helpful - almost fatherly, in a way.

I bought a little canvas bag with the silhouetted image of Monte Isola printed on it, and carried my purchases in it as I dug through his small selection of fresh produce from his garden.

I bought olives, and vine tomatoes. I bought bread that his wife had baked that morning, and a bottle of wine and some clear plastic glasses to drink it from.

And then I paused.

"How should I make a fire?" I said. "If I want a fire, that is?"

He thought for a moment, then placed a small yellow box on the counter. "These are what you need," he said. "Lighters fail sometimes, these matches will not."

And I thanked him with a smile, and paid him, and walked my new things back home with me.

I inflated the mattress, though first I spent a good while squinting at the strange pictographs that claimed to demonstrate how to do it yet didn't.

I moved my pillows onto it, and covered it with a sheet and a blanket. Then I lay down on it and stared upwards at the dusty rock roof of my cave.

It was very comfortable. Quite different to my bed. And a new perspective too. I liked the change.

I sat up, and reached for the matches.

After staring at more pictoglyphs and some experimentation, I managed to light a match, and stared, enraptured, as the flame consumed the wood.

I'd seen people collect kindling, so I did that, and heaped it up, and taught myself how to light it.

The flames fascinated me; they were so fast, so alive. So quick to die away again.

I fetched stones and ringed my hearth with them to prevent any accidents. I collected more kindling and some bigger boughs.

It was nearly midday. I wondered if she'd be swimming.

I thought about that image for a moment or two. Then I yawned and stretched.

I could no longer sense all my waters, not in these latter days. So I'd have to go and look.

I changed my outfit into the "designer blue swimsuit" as she'd called it, and walked down the bank to my waters, and from there along the shore until I reached my favourite hollowed-out rock. I stared out at the beach, but was disappointed.

She was not there.

I settled down onto the rock, pensive.

Then I shrugged. She'd likely slept late, I thought. It had been very late by the time we'd exhausted one-another and she'd left. Likely she'd been catching up on whatever it was she needed to be doing in the morning.

I'd visit her at work, and get her to come home with me.

A strange whim occurred to me. I slipped down into the water and began to swim - like Daniella had done, kicking her long, graceful legs and thrashing her arms...

It was so inefficient, so ridiculous; I laughed, and then laughed again at the simple joy of laughter.

Her presence lingered in this place; I felt her love everywhere.

I turned onto my back and suspended myself at the surface, letting my waters carry me slowly with the gentle current that kissed the bank, smiling up at the birds that came to see what on earth I was doing.

And the slow face of the sun crossed the heavens and began his gentle descent into evening.

I made my way to Iseo, and waited in the shallows, just off the shore of the Piazza del Lago.

I watched her arrive; watched her park her Lambretta, watched the careful way she swung her legs off the seat...

And then, once she'd climbed the steps to the bar, I stepped from the water and assumed a new outfit.

A simple skirt tonight; something more modern, pale linen falling to my knees and a soft, pink cotton top that obscured almost nothing of the curves of my bare breasts beneath it.

I climbed the stairs and crossed the Piazza; a man whistled at me and I twirled for him and blessed him with a smile.

I reached the bar. I pushed open the door.

And she looked up at me with a warm, sensual smile that became a slack-jawed stare.

"Oh my God, Isea," she said as I closed the distance to her. "You look amazing. Come and sit here with me, I will be right with you."

I slid onto a stool and waited for her to finish what she was doing.

She put some glasses back into a rack and tucked her hair back behind an ear.

She was also blushing, her eyes bright and excited.

"Hello, pretty girl. You're blushing," I added, helpfully.

She gave me a mortified look, and then laughed, shoulders shaking in the most perfect way.

"Stop that. You know perfectly well why," she said. "You're stunning tonight, Isea."

She moved over to me and leaned on the counter, staring into my eyes.

"I had lovely dreams," she said, and I found myself watching her lips as she said the words.

"Delicious dreams, I hope," I whispered, pleased.

"Sublime. Nearly as good as what we did before them. So. A glass of wine for my lover?" she said.

"Please," I said, blushing in pleasure.

She turned and busied herself. I spent my time admiring her hips and the shape of her legs under the tight black trousers she was wearing, and thinking about the treasure they hid beneath them.

She turned and caught me staring; she laughed softly.

"Caught you," she said.

"Yes," I admitted. "I like staring at you."

"You're allowed to," she said, pleased.

"How long are you here tonight?" I asked.

"Only an hour or two, then Giovanni is coming to work the later shift. We've agreed that there's no point in both of us being here when nobody else is, and his girl will come visit him when she's done tonight."

"So you're free?"

"Perhaps," she said. A smile curved her lips. "Why?"

"If I ask you nicely, would you come... to my home?"

She paused.

"So you've cleaned, then?"

"A bit..." I admitted. "Not that there was much to do. I was making excuses, you were right."

"I knew you were. But I don't mind. Baby steps are the safest, aren't they?"

"Mm."

She placed my glass in front of me; I closed my eyes for a moment to enjoy the aromas.

"It's so strange the way you do that. You... you go still for a moment, it's as if you're not even there."

"Memories," I said. "They... are powerful and evocative for me."

"Mm. And you love that specific wine that much?"

"Yes. It's our local vineyard after all. They use the lake water, and the vines grow in our soil under our sun. It's like drinking the distilled flavours of this place. It's like tasting its history on my tongue."

"I suppose that makes sense," she said. "I hadn't realised it was from down the valley. It's a nice wine."

"Yes. It was made with love," I said; she smiled.

"You say that word a lot," she said. "You're a very passionate person behind that beautiful model's face."

"I... just love my home. This valley, this lake... the people," I added, staring up at her.

She reached out and touched my cheek.

"So," she whispered.

"So."

"Any chance of a kiss?"

"Oh... I don't know..."

And then she laughed and leaned forward across the counter to kiss me.

I sat across from her, smiling at her and listening to her natter away about her day and all the things she'd had to catch up on due to our late night. And I made up a story, a little white lie, about lying on my bed and thinking about my book. It was a tale set in the area, I said - featuring the people who'd lived here long ago.

I'd watched history, and I was mythology personified... why not play to those strengths?

I felt a stab of guilt that I was lying, but... there wasn't much choice. Modern people didn't believe in me, and I feared what would happen if she learned my true nature.

So... I spun my tale for her, and she watched me and listened, wide-eyed and entranced.

We suffered a few interruptions - men and women and couples who arrived and wanted their own wine and their own time with my beloved. She'd serve them, and laugh at their jokes - but she'd always return to me.

Her cousin arrived early; he smiled at me and scoffed at her as she begged him to cover for her, but gladly did so, and she hugged him hard.

I liked how she telegraphed her affection for people.

I liked how her eyes telegraphed her affection for me.

She grabbed her thin jacket and took my hand and tugged me outside, steering me by pulls and nudges towards her rusty silver scooter.

"Where to?" she asked, as she buckled her helmet onto my head. "You look nervous."

"I've never ridden on one of these before," I confessed.

"It's easy - like riding a bicycle."

"Um... I haven't ever ridden a bicycle either."

"Oh. Really?"

She eyed me for a moment.

"Sit on the seat, and move backwards. Let me get on in front of you."

And I did as she instructed and soon got to enjoy the warm pressure of her bum against my thighs.

"Now... wrap your arms around me. Just... under my breasts. No. Not there; those are my breasts, Isea, and you know that. Leave my nipples... oh Dio Santo! Lower. Yes, like that. Now hold on, and... lean when I lean."

I was still giggling to myself as she started the motor, and slowly eased us around.

"You are impossible," she said. She pushed back against me. "Vixen. Again... where to?"

"The north shore, just past Predore."

"Are you okay?" she said. "Ready?"

"I... think so..."

"Hold on tight now, and don't let go. "

The motor roared and I closed my eyes, laughing in childlike glee as the wind began to rush over my skin and tug at my clothes.

"It's like flying! I love it!" I called to her, and I heard her loud laughter.

"Where are we going!" she shouted.

"Just... just keep going, I'll tell you when to slow."

And she pushed back against me and bore us off into the night; I felt like I was riding a horse across the wheat fields of Elysium.

Soon we'd crossed the bridge, and swept through Sarnico and Predore. A couple of slow turns of the lakeside road, and I tapped her stomach. "Slow down... on the right... here!"

She turned off the road and we bounced cautiously down the short dusty track towards the water.

"Stop here," I shouted, and she eased us gently to a halt.

She lowered the bike onto its stand and climbed off. Then she helped me slide off the seat and stand.

I gave her her helmet, and she hung it on the handlebars.

"Now where?" she said. "I don't see a house anywhere around here, Isea."

"Yet this is where I live. Come on."

I took her hand in mine and led her through the masking shrubs to the small out-thrust arm of the hill and the gentle glamour that discouraged unwanted visitors.

She stopped when she saw the dry-stone wall.

"Here?" she said, incredulously. "You live here?"

"For the moment," I said. "It's... part of the experience."

She stared at me. Then she shrugged. "Well... I suppose you needed to have something strange and mysterious about you," she said, smiling. "But this is... very rural, Isea. Not even my Grandparents live this off the grid..."

"I like it. It's quiet and peaceful and gives me the space I need to think. Come, Dani. Come into my home."

She followed me dubiously around the wall, then stopped.

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh... this is actually... lovely."

I smiled over my shoulder at her.

"I know it seems very... poor, by comparison to the towns... "

"Isea, no! I love it! It's so simple and so beautiful. Oh... oh my goodness, are these coins in this niche gold?"

"Some. Some are brass. And silver, and some are even electrum."

"It's so clever. Did you do this?"

"Yes," I said, pleased. "I found them all in the water, and... well, they're pretty."

"Other people would have sold these to collectors," she said. "These... Isea! These are Roman! They must be worth a fortune!"

"Maybe, but... I prefer using them like this. Wait... I'll light the fire. I have fruit, and tomatoes, and bread and wine for us."

She stopped staring at the coins and turned, taking in the pebble floor, the clean rock walls, the Spartan existence...

"You live so frugally. It is... wonderful. I'm suddenly so jealous of you."

"I don't need much," I said. "I never have. Just what the land provides, and love to keep me going."

She glanced around. "May I sit on your bed?"

"Of course! Sorry, I spend most of my time outside, so I have no chairs. I keep meaning to fix that, but... it's only been me, so..."

"How do you write?" she said. "There's no paper, no pens - just this small bookshelf."

"I keep it all up here," I said, tapping my head. "I have an excellent memory."

"You must do. I don't," she confessed. "I write lists for myself and then forget where I put the lists."

"I'd keep your lists for you," I said; she grinned.

I knelt and lit a match, then touched it to the pile of kindling. I added sticks and then small sections of fallen branches.

The fire blossomed and began to build; I leaned back and then sat on the pebble floor, pleased with myself, watching the smoke kiss the roof before billowing out in the gap between wall and overhang.

"So... tell me about your book," she said. She shifted on the bed and leaned forward.

I felt a pang of conscience. But I'd gone too far down this road to step away from it; I had to carry on.

"The first people here were... well, you'd call them Neanderthals I suppose," I said. "Long ago. There's little... trace of them - hollowed stones, bits of worked antler. Hard to... tell a cohesive story about and even harder to get any sort of feeling for. They worshipped the sun and the moon, that much I do know. Later came more modern men, and it was much the same. Then... down the long, narrow road of years, other people we'd think of as similar to modern Europeans came here. They worshipped more things - springs and rivers and mountains and thunderstorms and so on. But again - there's little left of them. The first people to really leave a lasting mark on this valley were the Etruscans."

"Hang on - I know them, they're the tribe who became the Romans?"

"I suppose that's a way of looking at it. My book's about them. They were... beautiful people. Tall, by the standards of the times. Honourable, mostly. Reliable friends and terrible enemies. They built an empire that spanned from Mantua to Naples. I'm writing a... fictional historical romance involving one of their queens. Her name was Tanaquil."

A flash of memory - the tall, black-haired woman, casting coins and jewels into the water in the hope of favourable harvests...

"You did it again," Daniella said. "You went... still. Still as stone. Are you okay?"

"I was... visualising her. Wondering what she was like."

A lie, of course. I knew precisely what she'd looked like. I'd watched her from my waters, I'd felt her swim in me, I'd taken her breasts in my hands as she'd writhed against me...

Beyond my cave mouth, moonlight lit the leaves of the shrubs and grasses. From my perch on the floor I could just see Selene peering into my home.

I raised my arms and bowed my head.

"And who was she in love with?" Daniella asked, when I was done.

"A... demigoddess of water," I said softly.

"No way. "

"They... believed in different things," I said, feeling strangely defensive. "Dryads and Nereids, Satyrs, Naiads... gods like Apollo and Athena... the world was alive to them in a different way than it is to you... I mean, us."