Legacy
- 4 years ago
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Legacy free porn video
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Nestled in the Berkshires, ‘The Virgin and the Unicorn’ Bed and Breakfast sports some of the most beautiful scenery of the Northeast. As featured in ‘Haunted America’ tours, perhaps as you sip apple cider this Halloween, you will be visited by the couple reputed to haunt the grounds. Local folklore holds that this working farm and manor house was built by Ethan Verence to impress the woman he wanted to make his bride, Corrine Parsons.
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Rowan Knapp was at her desk, surfing the web at work. The making of her Halloween holiday plans had spilled over into all hours because she couldn’t pick a place. She didn’t know what she wanted to do, but it was late October already. She needed to make her plans soon or she envisioned being stuck at home with a plastic pumpkin (the real ones having all been sold out) and crappy candy. Crappy candy was the worst. Leftovers lasted until Easter, when they were tossed in favor of Peeps. In keeping with the season, she was trying to figure out what to do with the vacation she’d scheduled on a whim. She was tired of being boring, of being bored. Skimming the paragraph describing the bed and breakfast piqued her interest. Thankfully this website was not pumping a version of MIDI theme from ‘Ghostbusters.’ The idea was growing on her and she decided this was her real pumpkin. The idea of spending Halloween in a real haunted house was too much to pass up. When she heard footsteps walking down the corridor, she shut down the browser in a habitual work ritual, pretending to efficiently care. Her manager came in to discuss an account and she shelved the wild romance of haunted lovers, and took on the professional disguise of being fascinated by the details of the ebb and tide of money on paper. It wasn’t faked entirely, at least, she loved her job. She just wanted some fun. Visions of poison plums dancing in her head, she breezed through the rest of her day.
Later, she went home and booked a room at the B&B for two weeks. Her imagination latched onto the idea of ghostly lovers. What would it be like to have a man build a manor for you? Was he handsome? Was she beautiful? She fell asleep with a smile on her face. She couldn’t wait to see for herself.
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Country road charm and local beauty surround ‘The Virgin and the Unicorn’ on the road to this classic property. (See map directions. We’re conveniently located 2 hours from Logan Airport and 3 hours from New York City.) Historically contemporary to the era of witch hunters and witchcraft, the farm on the grounds features an herb garden, an apple orchard, vegetable gardens and fields of rye. Enjoy the immersion in Northeastern late 1600’s culture with farmhands, apple pickers, and gardeners in historic costume. Relax and attend some of our exhibitions of colonial crafts, from demonstrations of candle dipping to blacksmithing. Don’t worry that you’ll be left in the past, though! The most modern of conveniences embrace the manor. Rustic charm gives way to your personal Jacuzzi in a luxury suite and a state-of-the-art gym on the grounds.
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Rowan took her time driving to the B&B. She lived in Worcester, Massachusetts, so it was only a few hours. She loved the road, the scenery, singing along to her music. The view of the mountains slipped around the car in a comforting rhythm, the road and the landscape grounding her. As part of her vacation rules, she turned off her cellphone and took off her watch. In her spare time she hated to be scheduled and reminded of passing time. Not that she really expected anybody to call. She only knew a few people from work, and didn’t interact with any of them socially, as that seemed like a bad idea. She was a Certified Public Accountant. She was in a good rhythm in her days, numbers and logic and order suited her. She had to take extension courses every year to renew her license, so she went all the way and supplemented those with other courses, filled up her nights with more learning. She hadn’t gone to school so much to make money as she made money so she could afford to stay in school eternally. Getting the benefits of a job she was good at, all the knowledge she could drink and in this case, paid whimsical vacations, she was almost smug.
She was a smart, qualified…virgin. She was 24 years old and she had yet to meet someone she wanted to sleep with. If it kept up like this, she’d be a spinster. Going to an antiquated place suited her sense of humor, along with her antiquated values. Calling her maintained virginity a value might be stretching it. She just hadn’t found anyone, or been found by anyone. She couldn’t consider virginity a valuable asset if it had been meaningless so far. She hadn’t defended her virtue particularly. She just hadn’t been tempted to spend it. Maybe she should get a bumper sticker ‘Spinsterhood Or Bust!’ The thought brought a smile to her face and she was still smiling as she pulled up to the property and got out of the car, handing her keys to the valet.
While she was waiting for her bags, she took in the scenery on the grounds and the manor. The main building was nestled into a copse of trees bare of leaves this late in the season. The trees had grown around the building, sheltering and sculptured, an effect only age could accomplish. Reminded of the passage of time, the cold air and gray branches made her feel a twinge of regret that she wouldn’t see them in spring or painted with the garish and startling colors of fall. She wanted to come back later to see change wrought by the seasons. The potential joy of seeing this place riot with flowers and new leaves in spring unfurling on the stark branches made her feel like she’d chosen the right place. Beyond the trees, the land around the manor opened up into clearings and pathways, leading to fields and outbuildings.
Practical and ornamental haystacks were heaped in the fields and placed as decoration along masonry and fencing. Fall passing into winter gave her the impression of spindly growth and spider web. The roots of the place were dormant but still very much alive. Corn cob bundles hung near gas-lit lamps. Artistically haphazard stacks of pumpkins decorated either side of the entrance. The doors were wide and welcoming, the aged wood carved with leaves and hung with wreaths of pine cones. Warm light seeped out through the glass.
The building was two stories with an upper level balustrade, a delicate wrought-iron wreath around the second-floor porch. The majority of the outer walls was colonial clapboard painted white, with details in brick and iron. Outbuildings spread out along the panorama of the little valley revealing a glass-encased greenhouse, other buildings in brick and more clapboard.
A flash of light lit up the right side of her field of vision. Turning to face the source, a smiling attendant in a white poet’s shirt, leather breeches and riding boots walked toward her. He showed her a readout of the candid shot on his digital camera. He was handsome and she looked at his face a little too long before she sheepishly turned her attention to the camera.
His voice was clear and deep, and he said ‘That’s a beautiful arrival shot, ma’am. If I do say so myself.’
Curiosity sharpened her focus on the camera readout. Her thick black hair was suspended on her sunglasses, swept back in casual disarray. She looked delicate and that always unnerved her a little when she saw pictures of herself. She would rather look tough. Tough probably didn’t come inherently to a 5′ 5′ petite. Her eyes were hazel, her lips tinted coral and lifted in a generous smile. Her body was draped in a white shirt and black silk pants.
She turned to the attendant and said ‘Thank you. What’s your name?’
He smiled and said ‘Randy, ma’am. The picture is yours if you want it. I’m available on the grounds to photograph anything you wish to save. Just let me know if you need a keepsake. No charge, it’s part of your amenities.’
She was delighted. ‘Lovely idea, thank you so much Randy. I’d love a copy.’
He smiled and gestured for her to follow him through the foyer furnished with antiques to the front desk. A deep-set fireplace provided a fire from hardwood logs that had wax-dipped pine cones burning in the flames, crackling and scenting the room. Light spilled in from the late afternoon sun through two floors of wide windows set with antique glass. The distinctive variations of thickness in the glass were reminiscent of underwater reflection.
Once she was checked in she was escorted to her suite. She was impressed, as the rooms were more beautiful than the photographs on the website had conveyed. An open space with four-poster bed in tones of mahogany, rust and cream. A color-dense quilt made her fingers long to explore its texture, and when she did, her senses met rich, soft cotton and down. A vaulted ceiling rose to a sharp apex, and the plaster work along the walls was exquisite.
The focal point of the suite was a window of jewel-toned stained glass above her balcony door. A tree of carnelian apples and emerald leaves dominated the field. A woman in a white dress was asleep, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, a forgotten apple falling from her open palm. A unicorn approached in the background, in tones of gray and black, silver threading his horn in a spiral.
It was so beautiful that on impulse she asked Randy, who had accompanied her to her suite with her bags, to take a picture of her under the stained glass. He took several shots of her, prompting her to smile, and then jokingly prompting her to frown until she waved her hands in denial with a laugh, and he snapped that too.
She pointed up and asked ‘Why is the unicorn so dark? I’ve never seen a black unicorn. It’s strangely beautiful.’
Randy nodded and looked at the piece. ‘It is unique. It’s rumored that Ethan had that commissioned himself. Nobody’s quite sure why the Unicorn is black, but I happen to think that it’s more accurate than a white Unicorn.’
She thought for a moment and then asked ‘Why would that be?’
Randy answered ‘Because Unicorns are always supposed to be virtuous. I’ve always imagined that any animal with a horn that big, that puts their head in a virgin’s lap, isn’t anywhere near as pure as the purity he’s attracted to. Perhaps Ethan was of the same mind. If his bride was the virgin, and he knew he was represented by the Unicorn, maybe he was just being more honest than most.’
He came around to stand by her and scroll through the pictures he had taken. He stood close so they could share the small screen. Her shoulder brushed his and she put her hand on his forearm when he pointed out her expressions. She drew her hand back and grew sober for a moment, reining herself in from overstepping intimacy bounds because she felt so at home.
She shook her head ‘I’m sorry, that’s a bit more forward than I should be. Forgive me. I can’t think of much worse than a woman flirting with a handsome man she owes a tip.’
Randy’s brown eyes sparkled and his mouth grinned easily. ‘You don’t owe me a tip, ma’am. They cover everything by entirely overcharging you.’
Rowan stifled a short laugh. ‘Did they overcharge me? I’m about to completely overstep my boundaries here and wonder what else is included that I don’t know about yet. Oh, and please call me Rowan. Ma’am gives me the creeps.’
He snapped the camera closed and smiled at her again. ‘Consider me at your service, Rowan. Day or night. My card is in the portfolio on the desk. If I’m available, I’ll be here. In fact, I’m here now. Anything I can help you with?’
‘Do you have any specialties?’
He considered for a moment and then said ‘Massages. I’m very good at massages. Would you care for one?’
‘This full service thing is intriguing. As you’re an insider, how do you suggest I spend my first evening here?’
He took her hand and drew her out onto the balcony, which had a view of the seasonally manicured grounds. He ticked off the highlights and indicated them to her. ‘There is the orchard.’ He pointed again ‘And over here is the greenhouse. It’s getting late, so it’s not the best time to visit, you’re probably tired and should rest up before dinner. Let me draw you a bath, give you a massage, and I’ll bring your dinner up to you after you rest. Let me pick what is best on the menu, as I get to preview it in the kitchen. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds perfect. I officially feel like I’m on vacation.’
‘Good, Rowan, let’s do that. I’ll give you a moment of privacy. Let me get you something to drink. The spiced cider this time of year is really good, would you like some?’
‘I’d love some, yes.’
‘Let me get the water running for you. Get settled in and I’ll come back in and set up the massage table. Come on out in a towel when you’re all set.’
She unpacked and undressed, and slipped into the bath. Bubbles and candlelight soaked the tenseness out of her muscles and mood. She had no idea what the room was scented with. It smelled amazing. Tip of her hat to the aromatherapy choice. If they had a gift shop, she was going to raid it. All the bottles were unlabeled except for the generic identifiers like ‘Shampoo’ and ‘Conditioner.’ Whatever was in the soap, she wanted to buy a life’s supply.
After a long soak she heard Randy set up the table in the other room. She got out of the bath and wrapped herself in one of the distinct texture of a bathrobe made from organically-grown, undyed cotton. Bliss.
She talked herself out of momentary shyness. Getting a massage from a handsome man was something normal people did, right? People other than her? She convinced herself his flirting was just good business practice and stepped out into the cooler suite, smiling in greeting to Randy and taking the mug of cider he offered her.
Thanking him, she took a sip. ‘That’s amazing. That’s the best cider I’ve ever had. What’s in this?’
He was arranging a towel on the table and unpacking some oils. ‘Honestly, I have no idea. The alchemists here are very jealous of their concoctions. From the chefs to the herbalists, they like ingredients that are listed as ‘herbs and spices’ and are very fond of the phrase ‘proprietary blend.’ I guess that’s what keeps online sales booming and people coming back.’
She sipped slowly as the cider was hot, and asked him ‘Have you ever seen the ghosts? Are there ghosts?’
He tilted his head and responded ‘I’m not sure. Sometimes, when I’m out walking at night, I see little lights. In the trees. Most often around the well.’
‘What well?’
‘There’s a wishing well. I can show it to you if you’d like. I’m not sure I’ve seen the ghosts, but I’ve seen something.’
She took a long sip and then put down her mug. She stepped over to the massage table and after a moment said ‘Okay, what do I do? I’ve never had a massage before.’
He indicated the hole for her face and said ‘Face down, thataway. Except for one thing.’
She tilted her head. ‘What’s that?’
‘You’re not wearing a towel.’
She looked down at the robe. ‘That’s right. Oops. Can’t you massage through the robe?’
He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t want to try, fingers are better than cloth. A towel you can slide down, but with this robe, and the hood, I’d be massaging terrycloth. Not what I’m after.’
‘Want me to change? I can, give me just a second.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s entirely up to you, Rowan, however you’re most comfortable. But if you want a full body massage, and you want my best work, I suggest naked.’
She stood and thought for a moment. ‘Randy, to be frank, I’m terrified. And you’re very attractive. I’m afraid I’ll make an improper advance.’
His smile was gentle. ‘Cross my heart, Rowan, I’ll only pick up on proper advances. Deal?’
Her laugh was genuine and she felt the specter of inexperience dissipate. ‘It’s a deal, Randy. Turn around for
a moment?’
He turned and she slipped out of her robe, folding it carefully and placing it on a marble tabletop so she wouldn’t water stain any of the wood.
She eased herself onto the table and into position, and then said softly ‘Okay.’
He warmed a divinely-scented oil with his hands and started to massage, his hands driving warmth into her wet, chilled skin. A deep relaxation stole through her body. He spoke conversationally about the history of the manor, and outlined highlights for tomorrow’s tour. Her answers grew less and less animated, then monosyllabic, and ultimately she fell asleep.
He eased off on the massage and spoke her name softly. When she didn’t respond, he pulled the quilt from the bed to cover her. He wrote her a note and left quietly.
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White Lady (ghost)
A White Lady is female, who died tragically or suffered trauma, reincarnated as a ghost found in other legends of different stories and appearances in other countries.
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Rowan sat up from the massage table. Her attention drifted to the stained glass, but her focus was wavering and blurry. The room seemed to recede in all directions and what was left was only the stained glass. It appeared more sinister than in daylight, the colors roiling, the apples starting to drip what looked like blood.
The woman at the base of the tree stirred and then a ghostly shape took form, stepping out of the frame and leaving the glass behind her, drifting closer to Rowan. The figure was beautiful as she rose from the still life, but as she came slowly closer, her features distorted. Rowan could see that her mouth was sewn shut, the stitching writhing and tearing at her lips.
Rowan whispered softly ‘Corrine?’
The ghost’s head dipped in a suggestion of a nod, hovering.
Fascinated, Rowan reached out a hand to touch Corrine’s lips, and the stitching disappeared as her finger passed over the outline of the writhing binding. Rowan’s senses registering nothing in the air but cold. The back of Rowan’s neck prickled as the fine hairs there rose, and her eyes started to produce tears.
Corrine smiled at Rowan. Rowan smiled back.
Rowan asked ‘Can I do anything for you? I’m new at this whole ghost thing. I’d like to thank you for visiting.’
Corrine reached out a fingertip and passed it through one of Rowan’s tears, cold again brushing Rowan’s skin and the prickling intensifying. Corrine leaned forward to kiss at the tear, and then she was gone.
Rowan’s smile deepened. ‘Now that. Was cool.’
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Meals at ‘The Virgin and the Unicorn’ are a fusion of local produce and international technique. Dine in privacy in your suite or in our lavish dining room. Our chefs create daily menus from what is available seasonally, drawing on the freshest vegetables and greens from our own gardens (certified organic) and local organic growers and ranchers. (See sample menu)
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Rowan scanned the note from Randy and called the number at the bottom of the paper. Ideas of ghosts completely pushed any ideas about any romance with Randy out of her head. Right now he was her fastest way to food. She was starving. She requested dinner politely and hung up.
Adrenaline coursed through her, producing a new feeling with which she had no experience. She felt clear, transparent, very much like the stained glass she was still staring at when a knock at her door broke her reverie.
Randy wheeled in a cart and produced pumpkin soup with rosemary-garlic focaccia. She kissed his cheek, declared him her savior, and started to eat. He watched her for a few moments and then said ‘I’ll be back. Let me get more.’
She waved him out the door and said ‘If you’re hungry, get some for yourself, please, I want to pick your brain.’
He waved over his shoulder ‘You got it, Rowan. Be back soon.’
She was ravenous, finishing the bowl of soup quickly and tearing up the bread to soak up the last drops. By the time he made it back, she was still reverberating like a hollow and recently-rung bell, but the jangling was fading from its original insistence.
Miracle
- 11.09.2021
- 27
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