OUD ABRAMAD - BDK PARFUMS

At dusk, the doors of the palace close. The light marble has kept the day's heat boiling. You would think that the garden was calming down and that the trees were opening their arms. The night of the mushroom advances under the arcades and the garden is like an encirclement of dark ô. Someone passes silently in the dark that falls. You can hear the muffled sound of a cloth that ripples like a cape, the discreet sound of a patinating leather. The slow and è silhouette passes through the quiet garden. It could ê Abramad. A heavy door opens and lets in a little clartwork. A figère shadow hangs over the stone â the dormant è. She's î. You have to raise the ê ê to the seven windows of the palace, open like large black eyes. In the silent darkness, someone holds on to the wall, and faces the mushroom.