The tale of the Vallonne dessert wine @vallonne_vineyards

The wind blew right in her eyes, fierce and furious. This was where the pandora’s box was once opened. Folk tales and versions of the legend were abundant among the villagers. Finding the box was impossible. And opening it would suck back all the negativity, oppression and pain from the world. Astrologers, Historians, Archeologists had all been on the prowl. But in vain. What made her join their band, even she didn’t know. She looked around. As far as she could see, the earth was blanketed with a vibrant shade of verdant. For once, it felt like she was strolling on the greener pasture. Cursed? Really? It was hard to believe. The trees swayed dangerously—some of them even reminded her of punching dolls. And a cold wind enveloped her, flirting with her shawl, pulling her into the vineyards. She took her sleek bottle of dessert wine for company and some warmth. Hours passed as she assumed the role of the vigilante. But the sweet extraction of honey-like wine made up for the cold watch. The skies turned a deep shade of orange, but the liquid courage gave her the will to stay. And then, it happened. It slithered right past her. And she followed, a little lightheaded and enjoying the chase. Suddenly, it vanished. She looked around desperately, kicking the muddy ground in frustration. But then, she looked up to find a tree house. The wind continued to whistle. And darkness crept over. Climbing up, fear gripped her senses. She stopped dead in her tracks. The box was there. But a familiar set of fingers were strumming a beat on its lid. He said, “Welcome to the faith, beta. You’ve taken long to find it. Kneel and submit yourself to the devil.” It was her father.

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