$29.00
The perfume of withering leaves, their brittle forms surrendering to the flame, releasing a sigh of bitter smoke that is flickering with the ghosts of summer’s memory.
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“It was a bad family, and here its bloodstained annals were written,” he continued. “It is hard that they should, after death, continue to plague the human race with their atrocious lusts.”
Palatial grandeur in ruins, its decrepit majesty poised in the liminal space between decay and beauty. A haunting memory of all-consuming desire: the rich, earthy depth of oud, vetiver, and moss, grounded in the untamed wilds of the forest, echoing the ancient stones that remain.
In this solitude, having just listened to so strange a story, connected, as it was, with the great and titled dead, whose monuments were moldering among the dust and ivy round us, and every incident of which bore so awfully upon my own mysterious case—in this haunted spot, darkened by the towering foliage that rose on every side, dense and high above its noiseless walls—a horror began to steal over me, and my heart sank as I thought that my friends were, after all, not about to enter and disturb this triste and ominous scene.
The haunted stillness of a long-decayed cemetery plot choked by ivy and wild blackberry thorns.
You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent the more selfish. How jealous I am you cannot know. You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me. and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature. Black orchid, cacao, bitter almond, and black musk.
She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her, and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near my ear, “Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours…” A fierce rush of pink pepper, carnation, pulsating red berries, and crimson musk.
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