A/N: Hellas = Mama Greece, or Ancient Greece. Sappho was a lyric poetess during Ancient Greek times and a well-known lesbian.
The girls in the meadow, she had to admit, were very fair. Lysandra, bold, the leader of the group. Alkyone, quiet and bashful, but with luxurious flaxen hair and cheeks that seemed graced by the rosy fingers of dawn. Nyx, all dark hair and pale face, and Thais, compassionate and concerned. Really, there was no reason that she couldn't love one of them, no reason she couldn't love all of them.
There were men of the island that she could choose from as well. But, Diophoros, for all of his charm, was tryingly arrogant, and his brother, Sarpedon, simply too uninteresting. Even Apollonios, whose tunes on the lyre could rival even those of the god he was named for, seemed lackluster.
After all, the poetess Sappho was particularly choosy in matters of love, and she would not have just anyone.
Just anyone, she mused, no one. No one but her.
They met at night. Sappho had fallen asleep underneath a small fig tree, and none of her girls had the heart to wake her. She felt a weight on her shoulders, rousing her from her nap.
"You should wake up," came a voice. It was an awfully silky and beautiful voice, but Sappho was unable to pinpoint any other qualities. The voice was Akhaian, and heavily accented, but it also held tones of Kretian, even, in distinct patches, the tone of those on Sappho's own home island, Lesbos.
"Helios' chariot's already sunk deep below the earth, and it isn't safe for a woman so lovely as you to be out all alone."
Lovely...?
Sappho slowly opened one eye, then two, and very quickly realized that there was a woman kneeling next to her, holding out a hand. She timidly took it, and allowed the woman to help her into a standing position. She was very muscular and well built, with a sort of hidden strength in her movement. Curly, chestnut hair was tied back in a messy bun, with golden ornaments interspersed throughout. Her eyes were the same as her hair in color, but they blazed with the steady warmth of a philosopher, the erratic shine of an adventurer, and the far off glow of a poet. Sappho was entranced.
They walked for a bit, the two women, discussing what was becoming of Hellas, the woman smiling warmly every time Sappho complimented the nation. A lovely, pleasant smile. And so, the poetess made a note of complimenting Hellas quite a bit, not only to see the smile, but to put the woman at her side in a good mood.
"I'm a big fan of your poetry, Sappho, dear," the woman commented. At this, Sappho's face began to heat up, a maiden's blush reddening her olive complexion.
Thank the gods for the darkness of night, else this strange woman would see the pink on my cheeks.
"Y-you... really?"
"Yes, I think it's lovely and expressive. Some of the best this whole country has to offer. You truly have a gift."
The blush spread to Sappho's ears and she offhandedly wondered why she was so suddenly embarrassed.
"Thank you, b-but your compliments are not becoming me..."
"Oh, I'm quite the fan of poetry, dear, poetry and art, music and theater, history and philosophy. This land is full of those things, the things that I adore. Believe me, when I say that you're good, the whole country thinks so too."
They had reached Sappho's home. She felt faint disappointment at the prospect of leaving this perfect night, this conversation, this strange and beautiful woman.
A slanted ray of moonlight illuminated Sappho's face. The woman cupped her chin, stroking her skin with long and nimble artisan's fingers. Their lips met, flooding Sappho with emotions she'd only ever dreamed about. And yet, when she opened her eyes, the woman had gone.
Sappho scratched at her tablet, composing her newest poem.
"Come to me now once again and release me
from grueling anxiety.
All that my heart longs for,
fulfill. And be yourself my ally in love's battle."
She hoped desperately that the strange woman, a woman who seemed to hold all of Hellas in the palm of her hand, no, in the center of her heart, would read those final lines. And she hoped dreadfully that the woman would answer their call.