So spoke Esme(e) stunning us with her promise and
quickening us with her fire. She did not mean
Violet's sister after
all. Not then.
The
rooms where she walked were formed of granduer
many generations had conspired the
ageless adornments, the subtle comforts,
the depth and aura singular to nobility of intent.
This
was Esme(e)'s source, this stately seat upon
the gentle rise and at the keystone of the
smoothly arching drive leveled and long nurtured. Great
oaks attended, and before, below, was
the lake. Some thought it had been fashioned
for a mirror servicing the lovely face of stone
and indeed it was mirrored there in
sweetened hues upon a summer's evening when
rose blushed its textured elements and mirrored
too its graven fixtures of gray and violet called
forth by autumn mists of silvered blue and by the steady
falling rains of winter.