They're here. They wait for the harlot night to come. When, in the light of swallowing candles, their passion will come to life again, unquenched ardor. And the dark delights of parting will become more tender than death. And loneliness together will drown in a bowl of bitter wine. And the poison of the favorable cicuta will spill onto the bed, as in the abyss. Dagger and fan, flowers, cameos... reflected in mirrors, in these whirlpools of vice. And they will come out of these whirlpools and abyss. Surround you. The body will be melted. Scorch the soul. They will stay with you, carcass and lighting a candle, crying, dreaming, dying - for all those spicy nights that you will spend with this book. With them. Lurking under the cover.