Bring me my arrows of desire

I just want a perfume that would smell of an old burial vault, all crumbling stone and patinated metal with only a few dry leaves lying there in the corner, swept in by the wind God knows how many centuries ago, and of rotting leaves and the giant empty grey skies from behind the doors, and deeper and further than that - of moss and of cold black still water in the woods by the graveyard, is this too much to ask?

His smile is most peculiar. The flesh of his mouth tightens slightly in the middle, as if he was struggling to hide his joy, like a precious gift almost presented too early. But the corners of his lips shoot up already, betraying the sparkling and golden light, as triumphant as it is gentle. And with this tender glow, this only too delicate gesture, his whole face is now bathed in light, radiating it, emanating it, as crisp and clean and clear as the glittering ripples of the morning sun.