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A terribly beautiful masterpiece. The light-dark billowing Caravaggio under the fragrances, simply magnificent. Baroque, but with class. Not fat and lavishly overloaded, but majestic and austere - just as one danced pavane at the court of Versailles.
They had fun, but always in style, they murdered, but behind the thick silk curtain. Eventually, however, the thick, already stagnant blood began to gush from underneath.
Wipe it away, says the King. And may it be hushed up, do you understand me? C'est une ordonnance
Mon Dieu, it's the little marquise who has been gossiping too much, quick, where is my rose scent...my heavy, deafening rose scent, otherwise I can't stand it...
I resisted it for a long time, I'm not at all the type for heavy wood patchouli rose fragrances, at some point it just hit me, I needed something against the daily banality of being. I rarely use it, but it's good that I have it. "Take it, it will help you", said the lady at my favourite perfumery. The only time I smelled it on someone was in Milan, in Via della Spiga. I think it was a man. Turkish rose, wood and patchouli. It was probably Prince Tancredi