Scentwolf

This is the continuation (part II) of the review by colleague and fellow campaigner Midnights.
The reader is advised to read in the correct order !!!

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Three breakfast covers. She knows it! She photographed the chat history. The date of birth as a PIN was not a good idea. The online account was also hacked. It's a good thing that the hours at the hotel were only ever paid for in cash. It wouldn't do any good, everything always came out anyway. She asked questions. More questions. An interrogation! It went on like this for two years. At some point, he can't take it anymore. The inevitable follows. Redemption and grief. At the same time. She wanted to grow old with him. He wanted to stay young. So the end was clear from the start. Neither of them wanted to see it.
Laughing and crying, talking and silence. The other, a brief happiness. "I'm yours" she had whispered with broken eyes. Had a husband and child. Couldn't leave. He thought that was perfect!
One and the other. Mentally present past. Jules still exists. At least that!

Epilogue:
They sat opposite each other. She had placed a third breakfast plate on the table. Whenever she wanted to bang her hand on the table and be angry, there was only a cold, hurt emptiness inside her. The way he sat there with shame in his eyes and a cramp in his stomach. She had seen it coming. The long evenings without him, the movements in the bank account, the hints about going to the casino, the inner turmoil that had taken hold of him. The changes in his character and his talk of cracks in his skin. She thought of Natalie Portman and "Black Swan" and wondered what movie he was in. "Jules is still around. At least that!" he repeated a few times too many. Even the thought of this liquid testosterone made her feel disgusted. He would have to sleep in the guest room from now on. She felt like showering for hours. But first she had to throw this bottle away. It was his second, and numbers had brought nothing but bad luck

I want no ordinary lover. I want a fucking storm.
I want sleepless nights and endless conversations at 4 a.m.
I want passion. I want madness.

Your life is reorganizing. Previous things no longer work. Contacts dissolve, relationships end. Only what is real and true remains. It's frighteningly little. Maybe it's a good thing, maybe it's time to let go of the old so that the new can come. The time span in between hurts. Must hurt. Must be lived through, suffered through, endured. You will grow.

Écrin de fumée is warm cinnamon encouragement. The rum gives strength, tobacco leaves provide aroma. Subtle smokiness pushes unisex towards masculine elegance. The fact that Serge Lutens only lists three ingredients should be seen as an understatement. It cannot be meant seriously. This fragrance is too rich and too dense for that. Whatever else is in there, it blends in perfectly. Nothing is too quiet or too loud here. Nothing is missing, nothing is too much. All the notes follow an orchestration reminiscent of Nicolai. Masterful.

A maelstrom. Quicksand of emotions. It pulls you in. You don't want it any other way.
The varnish of your previous life shows cracks. You recognize yourself - you don't recognize yourself. Long-hidden things finally show themselves (again). Premonitions become certainty, fulfillment becomes a promise.

Which doors will open?
Pulse. Vibrancy. Pulse. New territory. Pulse. Relaxed turmoil. Pulse.
Mariana tomb deep trust...
Push the button!!!

"All woman" you had said.
I am ready!

For K.