Among the most vivid memories of my childhood lies a unique place: a complex of villas that seemed to encapsulate my entire family's world and the legends of our land. This magical location, perched about 1000 meters from the sea, consisted of two twin villas and a third nearby, arranged like a grand manor surrounded by a pine forest. It was here that I spent carefree summers and enchanting winter evenings filled with stories and mysteries by the fireplace.
The Twin Villas and the Family Complex
The twin villas were so expansive they could comfortably house four families. Our villa spanned two floors: the ground floor featured a large living room dominated by a central fireplace and an adjoining bar area. A long table hosted family lunches and dinners. Upstairs were the bedrooms—four master rooms and six more for us children. Over time, each of us—my cousins and I—had our own room, a mark of growing independence.
The front garden teemed with life, with a fountain at its center and a driveway for family cars. Entry was through a majestic gate, marking the boundary of a microcosm almost separate from the outside world. Behind the villa stretched a large vegetable garden, guarded by a towering maritime pine tree, whose majestic presence seemed to watch over the grounds.
Next door, separated only by a wall, stood the twin villa belonging to my uncles. A small gate, always open, connected the two gardens and vegetable patches, creating a seamless bond between the homes. From afar, the twin villas appeared as a single enormous dwelling, unified by family history. Opposite, separated by an iron fence, was the villa of my grandmother's brother. This triangle of houses formed an impressive complex, akin to a modern castle surrounded by pines that shielded it from the surrounding fields.
The Complex’s Allure and Terror
By day, especially on bright summer mornings, the complex was enchanting. The pines seemed to sing with the wind, and every corner invited play and exploration. But by night, especially under a full moon, the entire place transformed. Its fairytale charm gave way to a gothic, almost eerie atmosphere.
During cold autumn or winter evenings, the complex revealed its most unsettling side. The front garden, with wind rustling through the trees, became a place to avoid. Bats darted across the night sky, while moths and larger insects seemed to materialize, driving us to the safety of the house. But it was the vegetable garden behind the villa that was the true off-limits zone. The barren winter trees, mysterious sounds of the wind, nocturnal creatures, and cats with glowing eyes created a nightmarish setting. Even now, as an adult, the thought of being there alone sends shivers down my spine.
Autumn Evenings: Tales and Legends
It was on these dark, cold evenings that the entire family would gather around the fireplace. There, in the warm glow of the fire, we would listen to the stories and legends of our land. Our storyteller was Aunt Irma, a woman gifted with words and a unique talent for transporting us to distant, mysterious worlds. Sitting at her feet, my cousins and I hung on her every word as she spun tales of spirits, castles, and ancient heroes.
Her stories came alive in our minds, fueled by the atmosphere of the place. The howling wind and night sounds filtering through the windows heightened every tale, making them more vivid and terrifying. Each story left a lasting mark, nurturing our imagination and deepening our respect for tradition.
An Unbreakable Bond
Those evenings left an indelible imprint on my memory. The villa and its family complex were not just physical places but a microcosm of bonds, traditions, and mysteries. Every corner had a story to tell, every sound carried a fragment of legend.
Even today, when I think back to those autumn nights, I feel the warmth of the fire and hear Aunt Irma’s voice transporting us to another world. The Villa of Legends lives on in my memories—a place where past and present converge, and where mystery and magic will never fade.
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