THE FLOWERS OF EVIL EXALT A FRAGRANCE CAPABLE OF UNVEILING THE THIN MASK OF ORDINARINESS . . . SOIS BELLE! ET SOIS TRISTE! ECHOES THE SUBTLE WHISPER OF AN UNFINISHED CRESCENDO, DISARMING ALL BEAUTY WITH WORDS THAT CAST A VISCERAL SPELL — AS IF THEY WERE WRITTEN WITH INK MADE OF TEARS — ADDING CHARM TO AN ABANDONED CONVENT WHOSE RITUALS HAVE BEEN LOST IN PARADISE.