Midnight's Daughter

I picked the contraption up, and fumbled at it, and managed to answer on the second attempt.

"Hey, babe," I said.

"Hey, you. I was walking down the Via Clavature - you know there's a bookshop there, right?"

"Mhmm?" I said, turning so that I could stare out over over the snow-crusted rooftops of Bologna. I twirled my ankles, pointed my toes, enjoying the feeling of my muscles unclenching. "Libreria Nanni; I know it..."

"I thought you might. So... I saw a book in the window - a new one, and it made me think of you. I sent you a picture, you really should be better at reading your messages, my love."

I snorted. "I'm busy," I said. "I'm writing. You know, so I have a job, so I have money to pay for my upkeep..."

She laughed. "Are you still going on about that?"

I smiled. "Of course. It is a convenient stick to poke you with, my silly donkey."

She laughed more loudly.

"Donkey, is it? Ass. Read your messages, you wilful and disobedient girl," she said.

"Oh in Selene's name... all right, all right. Hang on..."

I poked and prodded at the still-sometimes-confusing device, and opened my chat with her.

And stared.

"Oh. Oh... it's finally there. Finally!"

"Congratulations, my love! I've bought us some wine, tonight we're celebrating."

"Okay," I laughed. "If you insist. I hope it's..."

"Villa Elisa. Yes. Of course it is. Anyway... there's nothing else, I just wanted to phone you and hear your voice and show you this. I'm so proud of you. I love you forever, my goddess. Class finishes in in an hour and then I'll head home."

"I will be waiting. I will always be waiting. I love you."

"I love you too."

And she hung up.

I leaned back into my chair and stared at the photo - my grinning lover's bright, wide-eyed smile, dramatic thumbs up, and next to her in the bookshop's window - my book.

The Queen and the River's Daughter... by Isea di Lago.

Fictional, of course.

Well... mostly.

I honestly would never have thought that the store of history locked up in my memories would be of any interest to anyone.

But Daniella... and Bettina, and Maria, and Marco, and their families had all been fascinated by the things I could tell them of their home.

And they'd all nagged and badgered me, my lover most of all, and made me write - sometimes bullying, sometimes bribing, but always with love in their hearts.

And - so strangely, but just as my partner had told me - people seemed to want to read my stories. First they'd merely been "online" on the strange ghostly space Daniella called the Internet - posted up for all to see and for some to donate towards.

But then I'd been contacted by an agent in Turin who'd seen something in what I was writing, and who had linked me to the publisher who went on to commission my first complete tale.

And now - as Daniella had so laughingly predicted all those months ago - I was working on a second.

I glanced around - at our small, cramped but cosy apartment that we'd somehow manage to scrounge together.

A photo of the waxing moon over Lake Iseo hung in my writing corner.

Pebbles from the lake shores acted as book-ends on my bookshelf.

The shards of my heart stone stood in a little carved box that Daniella had found for me at some strange alley market...

And my pomegranate tree stood in a carefully-insulated corner; the sparse remaining winter leaves dark and waxy as the life within hibernated in hope of the warmth of spring.

I sighed, content.

I'd never needed much; I just needed a bit more these days than I had used to.

But with my lover, I had all I wanted. She held me at night, and kept me warm, and between her tutoring and my writing we fed ourselves and had enough to put a little away as well.

She would be home soon.

The heat was already building within me.

I would take her in my arms, and kiss her, and strip her and make love to her.

And then, only then, would I permit her to feed me.

I smiled.

Outside, the sun was setting somewhere behind the blanket of clouds.

Soon, my mother would rise and cast her gaze over the foaming sea high above us.

I would stand by the window and stare up at her hidden face, then raise my arms in praise as I always did. She would not answer, but I did not care, I would never stop singing my song of praise.

And then, finally, I would return to the embrace of my lover's arms.

It was bittersweet, this human life - full of small victories and great setbacks.

But for all that I would not change my choice.

I had succeeded where my poor, tragic sister had not.

I had Daniella, and her love.

I had my freedom, and the years that were left to me.

And they would be blessed.