doomsday_disco Report post Posted February 10 “The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in – let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. ‘Catherine Linton,’ it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) – ‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window.” A ghostly feminine perfume rising from the stiff binding of old diaries. Violet leaf and antique rose curl through the air, smeared with ink. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Poenari Report post Posted 3 hours ago Ghostly, indeed! This smells like an old worn, faded, threadbare linen handkerchief that had been soaked in violet water 100 years ago and pressed into an old diary. Faintly floral in that antique way, with a dusty dried up blot of ink that had spilled on it while making an entry. As it wears, the rose comes out, but softly, gently, delicately. It ends up as a very lovely delicate vintage floral, something I would wear to tea. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
