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.