Drawn curtains, closed window shutters, rays of sunshine fall through the cracks. The sleepy moment after making love. Superbly beautiful concubines of long bygone days, laying lasciviously on red satin in the semi-darkness, cloaked in secretive eroticism. On her skin a play of iris and vanilla, the fragrance of freshly plucked roses. A scarf half-covers a lampshade and cloaks the room in a secretive light. A spicy fragrance in which heaviness and acerbity warmly embrace.