The Story of Vengeful Lydia

The years have stretched long and thin since that tragic event when my beloved brother perished on the day of his wedding. Since then, my mind has been clouded with the incessant fog of countless trials. But I will do my best to recall this sombre tale.

I remember standing in the modest confines of my city-rented apartment the invitation to my brother's wedding fluttering in my hands. It was a ghostly reminder of joy shadowed by the demise of his first wife, Lydia, whose life had been cut short by illness.

The journey to the family estate was quiet. When the carriage arrived, the house stood in decay, its once proud facade now cracked and peeling. As I entered the house, Charles's new bride, Eleanor, greeted me. She had bright eyes and bubbly demeanor. Yet, as pleasant as she was, she could not hold a candle to Lydia. Lydia possessed a depth and a grace, an intangible quality that Eleanor, for all her charm, simply did not have.

Soon, the house buzzed with activity as the wedding preparations unfolded. Servants decorated the walls with fabric and set up tables adorned with sparkling glassware. The smells of pf bread and roasting meat filled the kitchen. Charles, however, appeared distracted, as if the anticipation of distant danger troubled him. Eleanor's bubbling spirit was a sharp contrast to Charles's gloom. I was drawn to her warmth and friendliness. We started wandering into the garden, sharing stories and laughter. We bantered back and forth, and a genuine bond began to form between us.

After the long week of preparations, the wedding day arrived. The wedding was splendid. The halls of the mansion echoed with the music of a string quartet and the chatter of guests from all over the country and even beyond.

Amidst the dances and laughter I noticed and impeccably dressed stranger with the piercing eyes. Eleanor and I were sipping champagne and exchanging joke.

"See that man?" she whispered, "He looks like he needs a company"

Taking a deep breath, I headed towards the stranger.

"Good evening," I said.

"Good evening," he replied.

We began to talk. He was a masterful storyteller. He was telling me tales, so vivid and suspenseful that I was hanging on his every word. The guests began to depart, but I did not want to part ways with him.

"Would you like to see my room?" I volunteered a suggestion, "It overlooks the garden, and it's quite beautiful at night"

He accepted with a nod, and we ascended the staircase. I opened my room and invited him in. I blushed when I was locking the door behind us.

The stranger kissed me and ran his hands through my hair, tugging on it gently. His other hand cupped face. His tongue darted into my mouth. Then his hand found its way to the soft mound between my legs, his fingers dipping inside me, his thumb touching my sensitive bud. My hips were bucking against his hand.

As he removed his pants, I saw his erect member, its thickness and length sending a shiver through me. He lowered himself, his hardness rubbing against my slick folds, his tip sliding against my wetness. I could feel his hips move, his body thrusting into mine, his member filling me, stretching me, completing me. His pace quickened, his movements growing more urgent, more frantic, his breath coming in short gasps.

His cock was throbbing inside me. His fingers were digging into my hips. As he thrust, I felt a wave of pleasure washing over me. After he finished, I drifted into sleep.

I awoke suddenly. The room was dark. The stranger had disappeared.

I heard distant screams and the terrifying sound of breaking glass. Panic gripped me. My thoughts flew to Charles and Eleanor. I raced from my room, down the corridors to their wing of the mansion.

I burst into Charles and Eleanor's room. Charles and Eleanor lay in bed, horrified. The stranger held a knife to Charles's throat.

Beside him stood Lydia.

Her eyes were cold and vengeful.

"You poisoned me in your madness, Charles, and buried me alive," Lydia's voice was a chilling whisper that seemed to seep into the very walls. "I found love even in the afterworld," she gestured towards the stranger, "and he has brought me back for my revenge."

"Both of you must pay for what was done to me," she said.

Charles, his face pale with fear, suddenly broke down, his voice cracking. "I did it... This house made me made, so I poisoned you... I thought you were lost to me... I couldn't bear the suffering," he confessed, tears streaming down his face. "But please, Lydia, Eleanor is innocent. Let her go. Punish me, not her."

I fell to my knees, tears blurring my vision as I pleaded with both Lydia and the mysterious stranger. "Please," I cried, my voice desperate, "if there is any mercy in your hearts, spare them both. They are not solely defined by their past, nor should they be condemned by it. Let there be a chance for repentance."

Lydia's face, once soft and loving, was now a mask of grief. The stranger's eyes bore into Charles with a resolve.

"You two," he said, nodding towards Eleanor and me, "must leave now. He stays."

As I grasped Eleanor's hand, pulling her towards the door, she stumbled, her gaze locked on Charles, who nodded urgently, silently urging us to flee. We ran while the crackle and roar of flames was taking hold somewhere below.

"Why did he talk to Lydia? I didn't see any woman there, only the stranger from the wedding... What is going on?" Eleanor panted, her voice tinged with panic as we navigated the twisting hallways.

As we burst out into the cool night air, the full view of the manor came into sight.

Flames licked hungrily at the structure, climbing higher, consuming the ancient timbers with a fierce, glowing fury.