Lupercalia, Bards of Ireland, Lunacy
 
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Limited Edition

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LIMITED EDITION BLENDS
No imp’s ears are available for Limited Edition scents.
Presented in an amber apothecary glass vial.

Note: only 5ml bottles are offered in our limited edition scents. Please check the BPAL forum for stock updates. No samples can be requested for any limited edition scents, as they are not taken into consideration or assimilated into stock when the limited edition oils are made. Simply put: there are none to give. If you request a sample of a limited edition scent, we will swap for a random “permanent” scent.

All limited edition scents are $23!

  • (Not so) Penitent (Mini) Magdalene

    $23

    Lilith, Ted, and I were playing dress up one night, and during her snack break in the kitchen, it occurred to me that she – and the whole accidental tableau – reminded me strongly (and strangely) of Georges de la Tour’s Penitent Magdalene.

    So, of course, Ted and I threw together an impromptu 30-second staging with junk lying around the house and took a photo.

    Learning art history through role playing and silly photo shenanigans!

    Candle wax, smoke, red sandalwood, a dusting of kitchen spices, and a dribble of vanilla ice cream.

    Out of Stock
  • 13

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    13 is significant, whether you consider it lucky, unlucky or just plain odd. Many believe it to be unfortunate…

    …because there were 13 present at the Last Supper.
    …Loki crashed a party of 12 at Valhalla, which ended in Baldur’s death.
    …Oinomaos killed 13 of Hippodamia’s suitors before Pelops finally, in his own shady way, defeated the jealous king.
    …In ancient Rome, Hecate’s witches gathered in groups of 12, the Goddess herself being the 13th in the coven.

    Concern over the number thirteen echoes back beyond the Christian era. Line 13 was omitted form the Code of Hammurabi.

    The shivers over Friday the 13th also have some interesting origins:

    …Christ was allegedly crucified on Friday the 13th.
    …On Friday, October 13, 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrests of Jaques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and sixty of his senior knights.
    …In British custom, hangings were held on Fridays, and there were 13 steps on the gallows leading to the noose.

    To combat the superstition, Robert Ingersoll and the Thirteen Club held thirteen-men dinners during the 19th Century. Successful? Hardly. The number still invokes trepidation to this day. A recent whimsical little serial killer study showed that the following murderers all have names that total thirteen letters:

    Theodore Bundy
    Jeffrey Dahmer
    Albert De Salvo
    John Wayne Gacy

    And, with a little stretch of the imagination, you can also fit “Jack the Ripper” and “Charles Manson” into that equation.

    More current-era paranoia: modern schoolchildren stop their memorization of the multiplication tables at 12. There were 13 Plutonium slugs in the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. Apollo 13 wasn’t exactly the most successful space mission. All of these are things that modern triskaidekaphobes point to when justifying their fears.

    For some, 13 is an extremely fortuitous and auspicious number…

    …In Jewish tradition, God has 13 Attributes of Mercy. Also, there were 13 tribes of Israel, 13 principles of Jewish faith, and 13 is considered the age of maturity.
    …The ancient Egyptians believed that there were 12 stages of spiritual achievement in this lifetime, and a 13th beyond death.
    …The word for thirteen, in Chinese, sounds much like the word which means “must be alive”.

    Thirteen, whether you love it or loathe it, is a pretty cool number all around.

    …In some theories of relativity, there are 13 dimensions.
    …It is a prime number, lucky number, star number, Wilson Prime, and Fibonacci number.
    …There are 13 Archimedean solids.

    AND…
    …There were 13 original colonies when the United States were founded.

    Says a lot about the US, doesn’t it?

    White chocolate with thirteen luck boosting elements: pomegranate pulp, red mandarin, five-finger grass, stephanotis blossom, star jasmine, pink carnation, white chamomile, irish moss, Jamaican ginger, acorn blossom, a pinch of sweet basil, a drop of peppermint, and strawberry juice.

    Out of Stock
  • 13

    $23

    13 is significant, whether you consider it lucky, unlucky or just plain odd. Many believe it to be unfortunate…

    …because there were 13 present at the Last Supper.
    …Loki crashed a party of 12 at Valhalla, which ended in Baldur’s death.
    …Oinomaos killed 13 of Hippodamia’s suitors before Pelops finally, in his own shady way, defeated the jealous king.
    …In ancient Rome, Hecate’s witches gathered in groups of 12, the Goddess herself being the 13th in the coven.

    Concern over the number thirteen echoes back beyond the Christian era. Line 13 was omitted form the Code of Hammurabi.

    The shivers over Friday the 13th also have some interesting origins:

    …Christ was allegedly crucified on Friday the 13th.
    …On Friday, October 13, 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrests of Jaques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and sixty of his senior knights.
    …In British custom, hangings were held on Fridays, and there were 13 steps on the gallows leading to the noose.

    To combat the superstition, Robert Ingersoll and the Thirteen Club held thirteen-men dinners during the 19th Century. Successful? Hardly. The number still invokes trepidation to this day. A recent whimsical little serial killer study showed that the following murderers all have names that total thirteen letters:

    Theodore Bundy
    Jeffrey Dahmer
    Albert De Salvo
    John Wayne Gacy

    And, with a little stretch of the imagination, you can also fit “Jack the Ripper” and “Charles Manson” into that equation.

    More current-era paranoia: modern schoolchildren stop their memorization of the multiplication tables at 12. There were 13 Plutonium slugs in the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. Apollo 13 wasn’t exactly the most successful space mission. All of these are things that modern triskaidekaphobes point to when justifying their fears.

    For some, 13 is an extremely fortuitous and auspicious number…

    …In Jewish tradition, God has 13 Attributes of Mercy. Also, there were 13 tribes of Israel, 13 principles of Jewish faith, and 13 is considered the age of maturity.
    …The ancient Egyptians believed that there were 12 stages of spiritual achievement in this lifetime, and a 13th beyond death.
    …The word for thirteen, in Chinese, sounds much like the word which means “must be alive”.

    Thirteen, whether you love it or loathe it, is a pretty cool number all around.

    …In some theories of relativity, there are 13 dimensions.
    …It is a prime number, lucky number, star number, Wilson Prime, and Fibonacci number.
    …There are 13 Archimedean solids.

    AND…
    …There were 13 original colonies when the United States were founded.

    Says a lot about the US, doesn’t it?

    Blackened cacao with thirteen herbs for navigating your fortunes through lucid dreaming and trancework: lemon verbena, helichrysum, nut sedge, Roman chamomile, naab, lavender, citronella, galangal, wormwood, patchouli, tulsi, hoja madre, and mugwort.

    Out of Stock
  • A Brilliant and Ruby Colored Fluid

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    It was then that I became distinctly aware of a gentle footfall upon the carpet, and near the couch; and in a second thereafter, as Rowena was in the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or may have dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if from some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the room, three or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby colored fluid. If this I saw –not so Rowena. She swallowed the wine unhesitatingly, and I forbore to speak to her of a circumstance which must, after all, I considered, have been but the suggestion of a vivid imagination, rendered morbidly active by the terror of the lady, by the opium, and by the hour. 

    A spectre’s poison: unknowable strange toxins dribbled into warmed red wine.

    Out of Stock
  • A Tremor Upon the Lips

    $23

    I listened — in extremity of horror. The sound came again — it was a sigh. Rushing to the corpse, I saw  –distinctly saw — a tremor upon the lips.

    The stirring of another’s heartbeat within your chest, the vacuum of a stranger’s breath within your lungs: Laotian oudh, carrot seed, white orris, and bitter raw frankincense chilled by elemi and eucalyptus blossom.

    Out of Stock
  • All Saints

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    Based on a venerable French pontifical incense blend: monastic frankincense and myrrh, Damascus rose, Russian gardenia, cassia, and lily of the valley wafting on a chill Autumn wind. A celebration of the glory and suffering of the saints and martyrs of the Church.

    Out of Stock
  • All Souls

    $23

    A day of remembrance and intercession. Without the prayers and sacrifices of their families and loved ones, the faithful departed may not be cleansed of their venal sins, and thereby cannot attain beatific vision. On November 2nd, prayers are sung and offerings are made to aid lost souls in transcending purgatory. An incense blend that invokes the higher qualities of mercy and compassion, mingled with the soft, sugared currant scent of offertory soul cakes.

    Out of Stock
  • Amicitia

    $23

    “We’ll be friends forever, won’t we, Pooh?” asked Piglet.

    “Even longer,” Pooh answered.

    A tribute to true friendship, and love that transcends distance and time: white sage and chaparral with sweet cedar, caramelized honey, warm fig, and carnation blossoms.

    Out of Stock
  • Autumn Cider

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    Fermented apple juice, brown sugar, spice, lemon zest, butterscotch liquor, and orange slices.

    Out of Stock
  • Autumn Overlooked My Knitting

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    Autumn — overlooked my Knitting
    Dyes — said He — have I
    Could disparage a Flamingo
    Show Me them — said I

    Cochineal — I chose — for deeming
    It resemble Thee
    And the little Border — Dusker
    For resembling Me

    For my knitter posse! A warm scent, as delicate as lace and as soft as cashmere, and as cozy as wool, punctuated with red currant for the blazing red of cochineal and surrounded a border of soft grey ambergris and a swirl of autumn leaves.

    Out of Stock
  • Avunculus

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    In hindsight, it was something of an omen that Lilith would be born on Brian’s birthday. He was with her on the day of her birth, and I have no doubt that they will love each other eternally. Yes, they are family, but he is also her friend: her pillar of support, her precious uncle, dearer to her heart than he could possibly know.

    I created this scent as much for Brian as I did for Lilith; it is the scent of the summer that lives in one’s heart. Orange blossom honey, white coconut, and pear with flecks of golden amber that glimmers like sunlight on water.

    Out of Stock
  • Bewildered in a Dream

    $23

    The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she who had been dead, once again stirred –and now more vigorously than hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more appalling in its utter hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to struggle or to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the ottoman, a helpless prey to a whirl of violent emotions, of which extreme awe was perhaps the least terrible, the least consuming. The corpse, I repeat, stirred, and now more vigorously than before. The hues of life flushed up with unwonted energy into the countenance –the limbs relaxed –and, save that the eyelids were yet pressed heavily together, and that the bandages and draperies of the grave still imparted their charnel character to the figure, I might have dreamed that Rowena had indeed shaken off, utterly, the fetters of Death. But if this idea was not, even then, altogether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer, when, arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with closed eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered in a dream, the thing that was enshrouded advanced boldly and palpably into the middle of the apartment.

    A disorienting eddy of French lavender, black tea, orange blossom, sharp green tea leaf, pink flowering thorn, and a blot of inky resins.

    Out of Stock
  • Black Supermoon

    $26

    Black on black: inky vetiver and opoponax further deepened by red benzoin and five-year aged Sumatran patchouli, limned by mint and white mandarin, and touched by the saltspray of King Tides.

    Out of Stock
  • Blacker than the Raven Wings of Midnight

    2.50 out of 5
    $23

    Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her head, unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had confined it, and there streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; it was blacker than the raven wings of the midnight! And now slowly opened the eyes of the figure which stood before me. “Here then, at least,” I shrieked aloud, “can I never –can I never be mistaken –these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes –of my lost love –of the lady –of the LADY LIGEIA.”

     The scent of Ligeia reborn: black tea leaf fougere with black sandalwood, opalescent vanilla, osmanthus,  18-year aged Indonesian patchouli, and the suggestion of ancient incense smoke.

    Out of Stock
  • Blueberry Picking

    $23

    I wanted to go with a less-literal name for this scent, but Lilith vetoed me! My little monster is a tremendous help around the garden. She helps me water, plant, and deadhead the flowers, but by far… harvesting is her favorite chore.

     Sun-warmed, slightly squishy blueberries plus overgrown grass, overgrown honeysuckle, overgrown lavender, overgrown lemon verbena, and a smattering of un-pulled weeds.

    Out of Stock
  • Bonfire

    $23
  • Devil’s Night

    3.50 out of 5
    $23

    Devil’s Eve, Devil’s Night, Gate Night, Trick Night, Mischief Night; whatever your name for it might be, the chaos is still the same. Contrary to popular belief, this festival of pandemonium isn’t unique to Detroit. Falling on October 30th, it is an evening of mayhem and destruction. On the gentler side, it may be celebrated by practical jokes, an egging, Ding-Dong-Ditch, or enthusiastic TP’ing of your most hated neighbor’s trees, and on the more violent side, arson and vandalism. This is the scent of autumn night, fires in the distance, with a touch of boozy swoon, playful sugar and thuggish musk.

    Out of Stock
  • Feeding the Dead

    $23

    A barrel of beer, a pyramid of cakes, and three sticks of incense.

    Out of Stock
  • Fettered in the Shackles of the Drug

    $23

    In the excitement of my opium dreams (for I was habitually fettered in the shackles of the drug) I would call aloud upon her name, during the silence of the night, or among the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if, through the wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the consuming ardor of my longing for the departed, I could restore her to the pathway she had abandoned –ah, could it be forever? –upon the earth.

    Sweet opium smoke, neroli, yellow bergamot, and piquant, strange star anise.

    Out of Stock
  • Fog Machine Juice

    $23
  • Ghost Houses

    $23

    Last year, Lilith visited Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 in the Garden District with us. As she walked among the vaults and tombs, she announced to us, “When I get older, I’m going to help ghosts fix their houses.”

     Marble, wild grasses, rusted iron, white clover, coneflowers, and daisies filtered through a sepulchral mist.

    Out of Stock
  • Goofballs

    $23

    This one – name, scent, and photo selection – is entirely Lilith’s. She wanted this scent to smell like “how friendship feels when you’re hanging out in the grass.” Per Lilith’s description: “wet grass and sunshine, dogs and wood, and my feet in warm dirt and flowers I pick.”

    Photo by Jan Easter!

    Out of Stock
  • GRAVEYARD DIRT REDUX

    $23
  • Hallow-e’en 1914

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    “Why do you wait at your door, woman,
    Alone in the night?”
    “I am waiting for one who will come, stranger,
    To show him a light.
    He will see me afar on the road
    And be glad at the sight.” 

    “Have you no fear in your heart, woman,
    To stand there alone?
    There is comfort for you and kindly content
    Beside the hearthstone.”
    But she answered, “No rest can I have
    Till I welcome my own.” 

    “Is it far he must travel to-night,
    This man of your heart?”
    “Strange lands that I know not and pitiless seas
    Have kept us apart,
    And he travels this night to his home
    Without guide, without chart.” 

    “And has he companions to cheer him?”
    “Aye, many,” she said.
    “The candles are lighted, the hearthstones are swept,
    The fires glow red.
    We shall welcome them out of the night—
    Our home-coming dead.”

    -  Winifred M. Letts

    A welcome for the home-coming dead: an incense of dried ivy and maple leaf with honeyed fig, black cypress, and grave dirt.

    Out of Stock
  • Hearts for Ghost Friends

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    Lilith named this one, and I think it’s absolutely perfect.

    I know I’ve told this story before, but the kindness behind it means so much to me that you’re all going to have to bear with me while I tell it again. The privilege of being the narrator!

    While we were at Lafayette Cemetery this spring, Lilith discovered all the beads, toys, and trinkets that people leave on the crypts. As she wandered through the cemetery grounds, she arranged the beads that she found into hearts and pillaged my purse (and Ted’s pockets!) for change and small items she could leave for the ghosts. She told me that people leave things like this for their ghost friends so that the spirits know that their “people friends” are thinking about them, and so they won’t be lonely while they wait for more people to come visit them. Lilith and I still talk about the ghost friends she met in New Orleans that day. Evidently, some of them have taken up residence in my basement and behind our bar because she couldn’t bear to leave them behind. The more the merrier, right?

    Friendship beyond death. The scent of ghostly companionship, and imaginary friends that might not be quite so imaginary: oleander and frankincense with white rose, soft carnation, spectral white musk, and velvety magnolia.

    Out of Stock
  • Incipient Madness

    2.00 out of 5
    $23

    Alas, I feel how much even of incipient madness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in the wild cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns of the carpets of tufted gold! I had become a bounden slave in the trammels of opium, and my labors and my orders had taken a coloring from my dreams.

    A thunderous passion, conceived in obsession and nurtured in the bowels of delirium, that grasps in desperation through the darkest shadows of the ether. An unwholesome smoky musk, dark and sweet, laced with Virginia tobacco, honeyed black currant, and red patchouli.

    Out of Stock
  • Last Year’s Stale Candy Corn

    $23
  • Lily Witch

    $23

    Lilith named this scent, and said this perfume should smell like witches. Her interpretation is swathed in anise, lime, almond, and witchin’ herbs, and holds a bouquet of pale, graceful lilies. The end result is a sweet, nutty absinthe’d lime with a hint of spice and leather.

    Out of Stock
  • Magnificent Autumn

    2.50 out of 5
    $23

    By what a subtle alchemy the green leaves are transmuted into gold, as if molten by the fiery blaze of the hot sun! A magic covering spreads over the whole forest, and brightens into more gorgeous hues. The tree-tops seem bathed with the gold and crimson of an Italian sunset. Here and there a shade of green, here and there a tinge of purple, and a stain of scarlet so deep and rich, that the most cunning artifice of man is pale beside it. A thousand delicate shades melt into each other. They blend fantastically into one deep mass. They spread over the forest like a tapestry woven with a thousand hues.

    Magnificent Autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds. He comes not like a hermit, clad in gray. But he comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.

    The scene changes.

    It is the Indian summer. The rising sun blazes through the misty air like a conflagration. A yellowish, smoky haze fills the atmosphere; and

    -A filmy mist,
    Lies like a silver lining on the sky.

    The wind is soft and low. It wafts to us the odor of forest leaves, that hang wilted on the dripping branches, or drop into the stream. Their gorgeous tints are gone, as if the autumnal rains had washed them out. Orange, yellow, and scarlet, all are changed to one melancholy russet hue. The birds, too, have taken wing, and have left their roofless dwellings. Not the whistle of a robin, not the twitter of an eavesdropping swallow, not the carol of one sweet, familiar voice! All gone. Only the dismal cawing of a crow, as he sits and curses, that the harvest is over, – or the chit-chat of an idle squirrel, – the noisy denizen of a hollow tree, – the mendicant friar of a large parish, – the absolute monarch of a dozen acorns!

    Another change.

    The wind sweeps through the forest with a sound like the blast of a trumpet. The dry leaves whirl in eddies through the air. A fret-work of hoar-frost covers the plain. The stagnant water in the pools and ditches is frozen into fantastic figures. Nature ceases from her labors, and prepares for the great change. In the low-hanging clouds, the sharp air, like a busy shuttle, weaves her shroud of snow. There is a melancholy and continual roar in the tops of the tall pines, like the roar of a cataract. It is the funeral anthem of the dying year.

    A scent that wanders through the Ages of Autumn, from the last green leaf to the first breath of winter.

    Out of Stock
  • Mermaid

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    Peter was not with them for the moment, and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves. He could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight, to have some adventure in which they had no share.

    He would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star, but he had already forgotten what it was, or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him, and yet not be able to to say for certain what had been happening.

    It was really rather irritating to children who had never seen a mermaid.
    ― JM Barrie, Peter Pan

    Lilith, I hope you never stop seeing mermaids. I hope your invisible friends always sing with you, and that the ghosts in your attic tell you stories every night. I hope you never forget how to dream, and I hope you never forget why dreams matter.

    A tiny siren’s perfume of pink seaweed, lotus petals, Tahitian tiare, white gardenia, orange blossom, sea salt, and vanilla-infused benzoin.

    Out of Stock
  • October

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath!
    When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
    And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief
    And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
    Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
    In the gay woods and in the golden air,
    Like to a good old age released from care,
    Journeying, in long serenity, away.
    In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
    Might wear out life like thee, ‘mid bowers and brooks
    And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
    And music of kind voices ever nigh;
    And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
    Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.

    Dry, cold autumn wind. A rustle of red leaves, a touch of smoke and sap in the air.

    Out of Stock
  • Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha

    $23

    Salutations to the supreme Lord Ganesh, whose curved trunk and massive body shines like a million suns and showers his blessings on everyone. Oh my lord of lords, Ganesha, kindly remove all obstacles, always and forever from all my activities and endeavors.

    Lilith’s favorite deity – by far – is Ganesha, inspired by her kindergarten teacher and the works of Sanjay Patel. Her meditation technique, however, is as much a product of her Mom & Me practice at home as her enthusiastic love of Teen Titans. I’d attempted to persuade Lilith to meditate with me many times, but she didn’t have much of an interest in doing so until she started watching Teen Titans again in earnest. Kindergarten was a challenging transition year for her, and meditation was something she employed often to cope with the stress. I tried to encourage her to chant a variety of mantras, and she used many of Ganesha’s, but her go to was always Azarath Metreon Zinthos.

    So, thank you, DC Comics, Sanjay Patel, and (especially) Ganesha, for helping give my daughter tools to help her through rough days.

     This is a meditation blend that I created for Lilith: sweet frankincense, Mysore sandalwood, and a few drops of rose and clary sage.

    Out of Stock
  • Pile of Fallen Leaves

    $23
  • Pumpkin I

    3.50 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Amy Kinard!

    Pumpkin cream with cardamom, black tea, allspice, and ginger milk.

    Out of Stock
  • Pumpkin II

    3.50 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Asenath Waite!

    Blackened pumpkin with clove, tobacco absolute, aged patchouli, and oakmoss.

    Out of Stock
  • Pumpkin III

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Messy Nessie!

    Pumpkin with Atlas cedar, black fig, Laotian benzoin, bourbon vanilla, and copal.

    Out of Stock
  • Pumpkin IV

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Neal Segler!

    Warm pumpkin with three honeys, oudh, sweet frankincense, and champaca resin.

    Out of Stock
  • Pumpkin Spice Everything

    4.00 out of 5
    $23
  • Pumpkin V

    2.00 out of 5
    $23

    Pumpkin artwork by Ruby Velez!

    Pumpkins, pumpkin vines, and wild mushrooms with white sage, cade, sweetgrass, and vanilla-infused rosewood.

    Out of Stock
  • Samhain

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    Truly the scent of autumn itself — damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.

    Out of Stock
  • Some Strangeness in the Proportion

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    Yet her features were not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty, without some strangeness in the proportion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia were not of a classic regularity –although I perceived that her loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much of “strangeness” pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity and to trace home my own perception of “the strange.”

    Rich vanilla sandalwood elegantly distorted by oudh, labdanum, scarlet saffron, and pink pepper.

    Out of Stock
  • Sonnet d’Automne

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Ils me disent, tes yeux, clairs comme le cristal:
    “Pour toi, bizarre amant, quel est donc mon mérite?”
    – Sois charmante et tais-toi! Mon coeur, que tout irrite,
    Excepté la candeur de l’antique animal,

    Ne veut pas te montrer son secret infernal,
    Berceuse dont la main aux longs sommeils m’invite,
    Ni sa noire légende avec la flamme écrite.
    Je hais la passion et l’esprit me fait mal!

    Aimons-nous doucement. L’Amour dans sa guérite,
    Ténébreux, embusqué, bande son arc fatal.
    Je connais les engins de son vieil arsenal:

    Crime, horreur et folie! – Ô pâle marguerite!
    Comme moi n’es-tu pas un soleil automnal,
    Ô ma si blanche, ô ma si froide Marguerite?

    -

    They say to me, your eyes, clear as crystal:
    “For you, bizarre lover, what is my merit then?”
    – Be charming and be still! My heart, which all things irk,
    Except the candor of the animals of old,

    Does not wish to reveal its black secret to you,
    Whose lulling hands invite me to long sleep,
    Nor its somber legend written with flame.
    I hate passion; intelligence makes me suffer!

    Let us love each other sweetly. Tenebrous Love,
    Ambushed in his shelter, stretches his fatal bow.
    I know all the weapons of his old arsenal:

    Crime, horror, and madness! – pale marguerite!
    Are you not, like me, an autumnal sun,
    O my Marguerite, so white and so cold?

    – Charles Baudelaire, translated by William Aggeler

    Tenebrous Love: a shivering white musk with vanilla-infused white cocoa, amber incense, and dead, dry leaves.

    Out of Stock
  • Stage Blood

    $23
  • Suck It

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    A vampiric good time. Sexy and suckable: black cherry brandy and a whisper of red wine.

    Out of Stock
  • Sugar Skull

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Vibrant with the joy and sweetness of life in death! A blend of five sugars, lightly dusted with candied fruits.

    Out of Stock
  • Tattie Bogle

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    (Now in 5ml!)

    Alane upon the field she stood,
    The tattie-bogle, tall an’ prood.
    But certie, she wis smairt an’ braw,
    A bonnie lass, tho’ made o’ straw.

    Her gowden hair wis made o’ oo.
    Her dentie goon when it wis new
    Langsyne, hid been the guidwife’s best.
    Sae trigly wis the bogle drest!

    The beasts they cam’ frae a’ the airts.
    (The tod ran tours frae furrin’ pairts.)
    They cam’ by day, they cam’ by nicht,
    To see a maist byordnar sicht.

    An’ craws an sparras by the score,
    A wale o’ burds, mair nor afore.
    The fermer roared an’ raged aboot.
    ‘A’ll cast yon tattie-bogle oot!’

    Pair tattie-bogle, she wis wae.
    ‘Eh!’ said the houlet, ‘Whits a dae?’
    He flew doon frae the elder tree.
    ‘Noo, dry yer e’en an’ herk tae me.

    ‘See, lassie, tak ma guid advice.
    There is nae yiss ye bein’ nice.
    Can ye nae glower an’ skreich an’ a’
    Tae sen’ thae cooardie burds awa’?’

    The bogle grat nae mair: instead
    ‘A’m much obleeged tae ye,’ she said
    ‘Ma voice is lood – jist like the craik!’
    ‘Then sing,’ he said, ‘ for ony sake!’

    It chilled the verra bluid tae hear
    The bogle’s sang : frae far an’ near
    The burds rose up, a’ frichtit sair
    An’ nivver cam back ony mair.

    Sae should ye pass at skreich o’ day
    Alang the road frae Auchenblae,
    An’ hear a strange uncanny soun,
    That scares the burds for miles aroon,

    A soon like pincils on a sclate,
    Be on yer way an’ dinna wait.
    Ye can be shair as onything
    Ye’ve heard the tattie-bogle sing.

    Hay, gunpowder, patchouli, a sliver of bark, autumn herbs, and sun-baked wood.

    Out of Stock
  • The Hierophant and the Empress

    $23

    Let the woman be girt with a sword before me: the many-throned, many-minded, many-wiled, daughter of Zeus.

    Red and white roses, everblooming gardenia, violet leaf, Oman frankincense, styrax, honey myrtle, mallow flower.

    Out of Stock
  • The Radiance of an Opium-Dream

    $23

    There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaciated. I would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of her footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was never made aware of her entrance into my closed study save by the dear music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream –an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered vision about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.

    A haze of tuberose, pale jasmine, vanilla orchid, and lily, with a faint jagged edge of opium tar.

    Out of Stock
  • The Tumultuous Vultures of Stern Passion

    2.50 out of 5
    $23

    Of all the women whom I have ever known, she, the outwardly calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was the most violently a prey to the tumultuous vultures of stern passion. And of such passion I could form no estimate, save by the miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so delighted and appalled me –by the almost magical melody, modulation, distinctness and placidity of her very low voice –and by the fierce energy (rendered doubly effective by contrast with her manner of utterance) of the wild words which she habitually uttered.

    Of such passion, I could form no estimate: sanguine red musk, red benzoin, wild plum, vetiver tar, and Indonesian patchouli beneath a still pool of sheer white musk and vanilla-gilded lily.

    Out of Stock
  • The White Witch

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    O brothers mine, take care! Take care!
    The great white witch rides out to-night.
    Trust not your prowess nor your strength,
    Your only safety lies in flight;
    For in her glance there is a snare,
    And in her smile there is a blight.

    The great white witch you have not seen?
    Then, younger brothers mine, forsooth,
    Like nursery children you have looked
    For ancient hag and snaggle-tooth;
    But no, not so; the witch appears
    In all the glowing charms of youth.

    Her lips are like carnations, red,
    Her face like new-born lilies, fair,
    Her eyes like ocean waters, blue,
    She moves with subtle grace and air,
    And all about her head there floats
    The golden glory of her hair.

    But though she always thus appears
    In form of youth and mood of mirth,
    Unnumbered centuries are hers,
    The infant planets saw her birth;
    The child of throbbing Life is she,
    Twin sister to the greedy earth.

    And back behind those smiling lips,
    And down within those laughing eyes,
    And underneath the soft caress
    Of hand and voice and purring sighs,
    The shadow of the panther lurks,
    The spirit of the vampire lies.

    For I have seen the great white witch,
    And she has led me to her lair,
    And I have kissed her red, red lips
    And cruel face so white and fair;
    Around me she has twined her arms,
    And bound me with her yellow hair.

    I felt those red lips burn and sear
    My body like a living coal;
    Obeyed the power of those eyes
    As the needle trembles to the pole;
    And did not care although I felt
    The strength go ebbing from my soul.

    Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs,
    And heard your laughter loud and gay,
    And in your voices she has caught
    The echo of a far-off day,
    When man was closer to the earth;
    And she has marked you for her prey.

    She feels the old Antaean strength
    In you, the great dynamic beat
    Of primal passions, and she sees
    In you the last besieged retreat
    Of love relentless, lusty, fierce,
    Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.

    O, brothers mine, take care! Take care!
    The great white witch rides out to-night.
    O, younger brothers mine, beware!
    Look not upon her beauty bright;
    For in her glance there is a snare,
    And in her smile there is a blight.

    Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet: gold-flecked honey amber pulsating with red musk, patchouli coeur, bourbon vanilla, inky vetiver, pomegranate rind, myrrh, blackened violet leaf, and blood red rose petals.

    Out of Stock
  • The Witch-Bride

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

    A fair witch crept to a young man’s side,
    And he kiss’d her and took her for his bride. 

    But a Shape came in at the dead of night,
    And fill’d the room with snowy light. 

    And he saw how in his arms there lay
    A thing more frightful than mouth may say. 

    And he rose in haste, and follow’d the Shape
    Till morning crown’d an eastern cape. 

    And he girded himself, and follow’d still
    When sunset sainted the western hill. 

    But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side,
    Weary day!—the foul Witch-Bride.

    (Aw, c’mon, Allingham. Foul is a pretty strong choice of words, dontcha think?)

    Pale and lovely, with eyes belladonna-wide: hemlock blossoms and ghostly nightshade veiled by wisteria, white frankincense, black amber, and narcissus resin.

    Out of Stock
  • Venustas

    4.00 out of 5
    $23

    Sometimes when I look at my daughter, I feel like I can see the woman that she’ll become someday. This is a perfume for that woman, forever my daughter: frankincense, sweet myrrh, bourbon vanilla, and a hint of willowy, pale fougere.

    Out of Stock
  • Verdant Decay

    $23

    Ligeia had brought me far more, very far more than ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals. After a few months, therefore, of weary and aimless wandering, I purchased, and put in some repair, an abbey, which I shall not name, in one of the wildest and least frequented portions of fair England. The gloomy and dreary grandeur of the building, the almost savage aspect of the domain, the many melancholy and time-honored memories connected with both, had much in unison with the feelings of utter abandonment which had driven me into that remote and unsocial region of the country. Yet although the external abbey, with its verdant decay hanging about it, suffered but little alteration, I gave way, with a child-like perversity, and perchance with a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a display of more than regal magnificence within.

    A claustrophobic thicket of yew, cypress, and drooping oak grown wild with dense mounds of bittersweet nightshade, gleaming white foxglove, creeping black ivy, clusters of marshy false morel and fly agaric, and a smear of crushed, overripe baneberries.

    Out of Stock
  • Very Pink Surprise Cake

    $23

    A few weeks before DragonCon this year, I took ill with a persistent, irritating, gooey flu. To cheer up me up, my crazy, wonderful daughter and her crazy, wonderful dad threw me a surprise party. They decorated Lilith’s room, baked me a cake in the Easy Bake Oven (it tasted very pink), and brought me little gifts, including a ridiculously pink lipstick, some balloons and noisemakers, and a bottle of OxyClean. (Long story.)

    This perfume captures the ridiculously pink scent of that ridiculously pink cake. I love my family.

    Out of Stock
  • Visions of Autumn I

    $23

    White cedar, black pepper, golden amber, bay leaf, and 4-year aged oudh.

    Out of Stock
  • Visions of Autumn II

    $23

    Gurjum balsam, rose geranium, opoponax, violet leaf, brown leather accord, and patchouli.

    Out of Stock
  • Visions of Autumn III

    4.33 out of 5
    $23

    Bourbon vanilla, aged patchouli, honey, and Ceylon cinnamon.

    Out of Stock
  • Visions of Autumn IV

    $23

    Somalian myrrh, orange blossom, champaca flower, and verbena.

    Out of Stock
  • Visions of Autumn V

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Haitian vetiver, tea leaf, Himalayan cedar, and apricot rind.

    Out of Stock
  • Visions of Autumn VI

    $23

    Oakmoss, lavender absolute, petitgrain, rockrose, white patchouli, and sage.

    Out of Stock
  • Visions of Autumn VII

    3.00 out of 5
    $23

    Tobacco absolute, myrrh, opoponax, black sandalwood, and black pepper.

    Out of Stock
  • Wooden Goat

    $24

    A new year’s blessing! Peony, China’s national flower, with bamboo for flexibility, plum blossom for perseverance, courage, and hope, tangerine for wealth, orange for happiness, lychee for household peace, pine resin for constancy, golden kumquat for prosperity, King mandarin for good fortune, cypress for longevity, and peach fruit to represent the fourth phase of Wu Xing. This year’s Lunar New Year blend has an extra dollop of blazing red of dragon’s blood give you fortitude and strength, and, of course, to assist in scaring away the rampaging Nian.

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Limited Edition - Bards of Ireland 2015

Irish bards were members of a hereditary caste of learned poets. They were officials of the courts of their chieftains and kings, and served as historians, storytellers, and satirists. They were immersed in the rich history of their clan and country, and learned the intricacies of their craft from birth. Their words held so much power that it was believed that a glam dicing, or satirical incantation, spoken by a bard held the magic of a curse.
This series is a celebration of Irish poetry, hailing the songs of Ireland throughout the ages.—

Bards Of Ireland will be live until May 6th.

$24 per 5ml bottle. Presented in an amber apothecary vial.
Since this is a limited edition series, imps are not available.

  • Cuchulain’s Fight with the Sea

    $24

    A man came slowly from the setting sun,
    To Emer, raddling raiment in her dun,
    And said, ‘I am that swineherd whom you bid
    Go watch the road between the wood and tide,
    But now I have no need to watch it more.’

    Then Emer cast the web upon the floor,
    And raising arms all raddled with the dye,
    Parted her lips with a loud sudden cry.

     That swineherd stared upon her face and said,
    ‘No man alive, no man among the dead,
    Has won the gold his cars of battle bring.’

     ‘But if your master comes home triumphing
    Why must you blench and shake from foot to crown?’ 

    Thereon he shook the more and cast him down
    Upon the web-heaped floor, and cried his word:
    ‘With him is one sweet-throated like a bird.’ 

    ‘You dare me to my face,’ and thereupon
    She smote with raddled fist, and where her son
    Herded the cattle came with stumbling feet,
    And cried with angry voice, ‘It is not meet
    To idle life away, a common herd.’

    ‘I have long waited, mother, for that word:
    But wherefore now?’ 

    ‘There is a man to die;
    You have the heaviest arm under the sky.’ 

    ‘Whether under its daylight or its stars
    My father stands amid his battle-cars.’ 

    ‘But you have grown to be the taller man.’

    ‘Yet somewhere under starlight or the sun
    My father stands.’ 

    ‘Aged, worn out with wars
    On foot, on horseback or in battle-cars.’

    ‘I only ask what way my journey lies,
    For He who made you bitter made you wise.’ 

    ‘The Red Branch camp in a great company
    Between wood’s rim and the horses of the sea.
    Go there, and light a camp-fire at wood’s rim;
    But tell your name and lineage to him
    Whose blade compels, and wait till they have found
    Some feasting man that the same oath has bound.’

    Among those feasting men Cuchulain dwelt,
    And his young sweetheart close beside him knelt,
    Stared on the mournful wonder of his eyes,
    Even as Spring upon the ancient skies,
    And pondered on the glory of his days;
    And all around the harp-string told his praise,
    And Conchubar, the Red Branch king of kings,
    With his own fingers touched the brazen strings. 

    At last Cuchulain spake, ‘Some man has made
    His evening fire amid the leafy shade.
    I have often heard him singing to and fro,
    I have often heard the sweet sound of his bow.
    Seek out what man he is.’ 

    One went and came.
    ‘He bade me let all know he gives his name
    At the sword-point, and waits till we have found
    Some feasting man that the same oath has bound.’ 

    Cuchulain cried, ‘I am the only man
    Of all this host so bound from childhood on. 

    After short fighting in the leafy shade,
    He spake to the young man, ‘Is there no maid
    Who loves you, no white arms to wrap you round,
    Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground,
    That you have come and dared me to my face?’ 

    ‘The dooms of men are in God’s hidden place,’

    ‘Your head a while seemed like a woman’s head
    That I loved once.’ 

    Again the fighting sped,
    But now the war-rage in Cuchulain woke,
    And through that new blade’s guard the old blade
    Broke,
    And pierced him.

     ‘Speak before your breath is done.’

    ‘Cuchulain I, mighty Cuchulain’s son.’

    ‘I put you from your pain.  I can no more.’

    While day its burden on to evening bore,
    With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed;
    Then Conchubar sent that sweet-throated maid,
    And she, to win him, his grey hair caressed;
    In vain her arms, in vain her soft white breast.
    Then Conchubar, the subtlest of all men,
    Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten,
    Spake thus:  ‘Cuchulain will dwell there and brood
    For three days more in dreadful quietude,
    And then arise, and raving slay us all.
    Chaunt in his ear delusions magical,
    That he may fight the horses of the sea.’
    The Druids took them to their mystery,
    And chaunted for three days.

    Cuchulain stirred,
    Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard
    The cars of battle and his own name cried;
    And fought with the invulnerable tide.

    —WB Yeats

    Grief and rage battering upon the waves: salt-crusted clove stem, flayed kelp, juniper, and white patchouli.

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  • Dark Rosaleen

    $24

    O my dark Rosaleen,
    Do not sigh, do not weep!
    The priests are on the ocean green,
    They march along the deep.
    There’s wine from the royal Pope,
    Upon the ocean green;
    And Spanish ale shall give you hope,
    My Dark Rosaleen!
    My own Rosaleen!

    Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,
    Shall give you health, and help, and hope,
    My Dark Rosaleen!

    Over hills, and thro’ dales,
    Have I roam’d for your sake;
    All yesterday I sail’d with sails
    On river and on lake.
    The Erne, at its highest flood,
    I dash’d across unseen,
    For there was lightning in my blood,
    My Dark Rosaleen!

    My own Rosaleen!
    O, there was lightning in my blood,
    Red lighten’d thro’ my blood.
    My Dark Rosaleen!

    All day long, in unrest,
    To and fro, do I move.
    The very soul within my breast
    Is wasted for you, love!
    The heart in my bosom faints
    To think of you, my Queen,
    My life of life, my saint of saints,
    My Dark Rosaleen!
    My own Rosaleen!
    To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
    My life, my love, my saint of saints,
    My Dark Rosaleen!
    Woe and pain, pain and woe,
    Are my lot, night and noon,
    To see your bright face clouded so,
    Like to the mournful moon.
    But yet will I rear your throne
    Again in golden sheen;

    ‘Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,
    My Dark Rosaleen!
    My own Rosaleen!
    ‘Tis you shall have the golden throne,
    ‘Tis you shall reign, and reign alone,
    My Dark Rosaleen!

    Over dews, over sands,
    Will I fly, for your weal:
    Your holy delicate white hands
    Shall girdle me with steel.
    At home, in your emerald bowers,
    From morning’s dawn till e’en,
    You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers,
    My Dark Rosaleen!
    My fond Rosaleen!
    You’ll think of me through daylight hours
    My virgin flower, my flower of flowers,
    My Dark Rosaleen!

    I could scale the blue air,
    I could plough the high hills,
    Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer,
    To heal your many ills!
    And one beamy smile from you
    Would float like light between
    My toils and me, my own, my true,
    My Dark Rosaleen!
    My fond Rosaleen!
    Would give me life and soul anew,
    My Dark Rosaleen!

    O, the Erne shall run red,
    With redundance of blood,
    The earth shall rock beneath our tread,
    And flames wrap hill and wood,

    And gun-peal and slogan-cry
    Wake many a glen serene,
    Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,
    My Dark Rosaleen!
    My own Rosaleen!
    The Judgement Hour must first be nigh,
    Ere you can fade, ere you can die,
    My Dark Rosaleen!

    —James Clarence Mangan

    Impassioned patriotism cloaked in the guise of a love song: golden frankincense gilding pine pitch, sun-touched amber, and oakmoss resinoid.

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  • Fairy Thorn

    $24

    “Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel;
    For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep;
    Come up above the crags, and we’ll dance a Highland reel
    Around the Fairy Thorn on the steep.”     

     At Anna Grace’s door ’twas thus the maidens cried,
    Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;
    And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,
    The fairest of the four, I ween.    

    They’re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve,
    Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare;
    The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,
    And the crags in the ghostly air.  

    And linking hand-in-hand, and singing as they go,
    The maids along the hillside have ta’en their fearless way,
    Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow
    Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.  

    The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim,
    Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;
    The rowan berries cluster o’er her low head grey and dim
    In ruddy kisses sweet to see.             

    The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,
    Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem,
    And away in mazes wavy, like skimming birds they go,
    Oh, never carolled bird like them!            

    But solemn is the silence on the silvery haze
    That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,
    And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes,
    And dreamier the gloaming grows.           

    And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky,
    When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw,
    Are hushed the maidens’ voices, as cowering down they lie
    In the flutter of their sudden awe.           

    For, from the air above and the grassy ground beneath,
    And from the mountain-ashes and the old white-thorn between,
    A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe,
    And they sink down together on the green.           

    They sink together silent, and stealing side to side,
    They fling their lovely arms o’er their drooping necks so fair,
    Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,
    For their shrinking necks again are bare.           

    Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed,
    Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound—
    They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd,
    Like a river in the air gliding round.          

    Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say,
    But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three—
    For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,
    By whom they dare not look to see.         

    They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold,
    And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws.
    They feel her sliding arms from their trancèd arms unfold,
    But they dare not look to see the cause;  

    For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies
    Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze
    And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes,
    Or their limbs from the cold ground raise; 

    Till out of night the earth has rolled her dewy side,
    With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;
    When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morningtide,
    The maiden’s trance dissolveth so.                 

    Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,
    And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain—
    They pined away and died within the year and day,
    And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again.

    —Samuel Ferguson

     Drawn away by the spirits, never to be seen again: an eerie veil of vanilla musk twirled with tuberose, Siamese red benzoin, cassis flower, Irish moss, white sandalwood, plum nectar, violet leaf, and apple petals.

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Limited Edition - Lupercalia 2015

Celebrate the warmth of passion in the dead of winter with our Lupercalia fragrances, scents for the lovelorn and lustful, the depraved and the intemerate. Whether you’re in the mood to scrutinize shadowy, aberrant passions or bask in the rose-tinted warmth of new love, we’ve got something that will be right up your alley.

All of these perfume oil blends are $24 per 5ml bottle and are, as always, presented in an amber apothecary vial.

The Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab Lupercalia series will be live until 6 April 2015.

The Trading Post Lupercalia series will be debuting soon!

  • Creeper Dragon

    5.00 out of 5
    $24

    This bit of artwork is one of my favorite miniatures simply because it makes me laugh. It is a detail from Roman d’Alexandre, showing Nectanebus all dragon’d up and ready to get busy.

    All this is well and good, medieval Alexander romances are fascinating, but this image will always simply be Creeper Dragon to me.

    Creeper Dragon Musk: daemonorops, green leather, and red musk with dribbles of honey and white cream.

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  • Dolce Stil Nuovo

    $24

    Love always finds shelter in the gentle heart. Dolce Stil Nuovo is a 13th & 14th century Florentine literary style that celebrates love and womanhood through heartfelt, delicate, and melodious sonnets, ballate, and canzones. This is fin'amor, Courtly Love, in its most moving form, and the emotions that these words express reflect love that both spiritual and idealized.

    Within this literary movement, earthly love reaches for the Divine.

    Who is she coming, whom all gaze upon,
    Who makes the air tremulous with light,
    And at whose side is Love himself? that none
    Dare speak, but each man's sighs are infinite.
    Ah me! how she looks round from left to right,
    Let Love discourse: I may not speak thereon.
    Lady she seems of such high benison
    As makes all others graceless in men's sight.
    The honor which is hers cannot be said;
    To whom are subject all things virtuous,
    While all things beauteous own her deity.
    Ne'er was the mind of man so nobly led
    Nor yet was such redemption granted us
    That we should ever know her perfectly.

    Our interpretation of Dolce Stil Nuovo is a blend of rose otto, carnation, vanilla flower, lavender and jasmine with the clarity of crystalline white musk and the warmth of golden amber.

    Out of Stock
  • For Each Ecstatic Instant

    $24

    For each ecstatic instant
    We must an anguish pay
    In keen and quivering ratio
    To the ecstasy.

    For each beloved hour
    Sharp pittances of years,
    Bitter contested farthings
    And coffers heaped with tears.

    – Emily Dickinson

    Equal parts joy and grief, lust and regret, pain and pleasure: velvet-red roses and sensual aged patchouli with night-blooming jasmine, caramelized bourbon vanilla, labdanum, black amber, and oudh.

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  • Liaison

    $24

    A big bud of moon hangs out of the twilight,
    Star-spiders spinning their thread
    Hang high suspended, withouten respite
    Watching us overhead.

    Come then under the trees, where the leaf-cloths
    Curtain us in so dark
    That here we’re safe from even the ermin-moth’s
    Flitting remark.

    Here in this swarthy, secret tent,
    Where black boughs flap the ground,
    You shall draw the thorn from my discontent,
    Surgeon me sound.

    This rare, rich night! For in here
    Under the yew-tree tent
    The darkness is loveliest where I could sear
    You like frankincense into scent.

    Here not even the stars can spy us,
    Not even the white moths write
    With their little pale signs on the wall, to try us
    And set us affright.

    Kiss but then the dust from off my lips,
    But draw the turgid pain
    From my breast to your bosom, eclipse
    My soul again.

    Waste me not, I beg you, waste
    Not the inner night:
    Taste, oh taste and let me taste
    The core of delight.
    - DH Lawrence

    The loveliest darkness, the core of delight: Moroccan black musk, white tea leaf, Indonesian black sandalwood, frankincense, honeycomb, jonquil, and clove.

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  • Night’s Pavilion

    $24

    I worship you like night’s pavilion,
    O vase of sadness, o great silent one,
    And love you more since you escape from me,
    And since you seem, my night’s sublimity,
    To mock me and increase the leagues that lie
    Between my arms and blue immensity.

    I move to attack, beseige, assail,
    Like eager worms after a funeral.
    I even love, o beast implacable,
    The coldness which makes you more beautiful.

    Not the desperation, desolation and anguish of unrequited love, but the distant, chill and pitiless scent of the object of that doomed desire. White musk, osmanthus, Nile lily and frankincense.

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  • Olisbos

    $24

    As for old flames and lovers-they’re none left.
    And since Milesians went against us,
    I’ve not seen a decent eight-fingered dildo.
    Yes, it’s just leather, but it helps us out.

    The ancient Greeks sure weren’t shy about taking care of business. The port city of Miletus was once famed throughout the Mediterranean as a source of excellent stone, wood, and padded leather dildos. This scent is the celebration of an age-old pastime: polished wood, well-loved leather, and olive oil.

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  • Red Lantern

    5.00 out of 5
    $24

    A tribute to the opium den cum bawdyhouses of Shanghai in the 1930’s. Golden amber, blonde tobacco, Sudanese black coconut, rich caramel, black currant, white opium and delphinium laced with a sensual blend of Asian spice.

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  • Sic Erit

    $24

    Esse quid hoc dicam, quod tam mihi dura videntur
    strata, neque in lecto pallia nostra sedent,
    vacuus somno noctem, quam longa, peregi,
    lassaque versati corporis ossa dolent?
    nam, puto, sentirem, siquo temptarer amore.
    an subit et tecta callidus arte nocet?
    sic erit; haeserunt tenues in corde sagittae,
    et possessa ferus pectora versat Amor.
    Cedimus, an subitum luctando accendimus ignem?
    cedamus! leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus.
    vidi ego iactatas mota face crescere flammas
    et rursus nullo concutiente mori.
    verbera plura ferunt, quam quos iuvat usus aratri,
    detractant prensi dum iuga prima boves.
    asper equus duris contunditur ora lupatis,
    frena minus sentit, quisquis ad arma facit.
    acrius invitos multoque ferocius urget
    quam qui servitium ferre fatentur Amor.
    En ego confiteor! tua sum nova praeda, Cupido;
    porrigimus victas ad tua iura manus.
    nil opus est bello–veniam pacemque rogamus;
    nec tibi laus armis victus inermis ero.
    necte comam myrto, maternas iunge columbas;
    qui deceat, currum vitricus ipse dabit,
    inque dato curru, populo clamante triumphum,
    stabis et adiunctas arte movebis aves.
    ducentur capti iuvenes captaeque puellae;
    haec tibi magnificus pompa triumphus erit.
    ipse ego, praeda recens, factum modo vulnus habebo
    et nova captiva vincula mente feram.
    Mens Bona ducetur manibus post terga retortis,
    et Pudor, et castris quidquid Amoris obest.
    omnia te metuent; ad te sua bracchia tendens
    vulgus ‘io’ magna voce ‘triumphe!’ canet.
    blanditiae comites tibi erunt Errorque Furorque,
    adsidue partes turba secuta tuas.
    his tu militibus superas hominesque deosque;
    haec tibi si demas commoda, nudus eris.
    Laeta triumphanti de summo mater Olympo
    plaudet et adpositas sparget in ora rosas.
    tu pinnas gemma, gemma variante capillos
    ibis in auratis aureus ipse rotis.
    tunc quoque non paucos, si te bene novimus, ures;
    tunc quoque praeteriens vulnera multa dabis.
    non possunt, licet ipse velis, cessare sagittae;
    fervida vicino flamma vapore nocet.
    talis erat domita Bacchus Gangetide terra;
    tu gravis alitibus, tigribus ille fuit.
    Ergo cum possim sacri pars esse triumphi,
    parce tuas in me perdere, victor, opes!
    adspice cognati felicia Caesaris arma–
    qua vicit, victos protegit ille manu.

    WHO is it that can tell me why my bed seems so is hard and why the bedclothes will not stay upon it? Wherefore has this night–and oh, how long it was!–dragged on, bringing no sleep to my eyes? Why are my weary limbs visited with restlessness and pain? If it were Love that had come to make me suffer, surely I should know it. Or stay, what if he slips in like a thief, what if he comes, without a word of warning, to wound me with his cruel arts? Yes, ’tis he! His slender arrows have pierced my heart, and fell Love holds it like a conquered land. Shall I yield me to him? Or shall I strive against him, and so add fuel to this sudden flame? Well, I will yield; burdens willingly borne do lighter weigh. I know that the flames will leap from the shaken torch and die away in the one you leave alone. The young oxen which rebel against the yoke are more often beaten than those which willingly submit. And if a horse be fiery, harsh is the bit that tames him. When he takes to -the fray with a will, he feels the curb less galling. And so it is with Love; for hearts that struggle and rebel against him, he is more implacable and stern than for such as willingly confess his sway.

    Ah well, be it so, Cupid; thy prey am I. I am a poor captive kneeling with suppliant hands before my conqueror. What is the use of fighting? Pardon and peace is what I ask. And little, I trow, would it redound to your glory, armed as you are, to strike down a defenceless man. Crown thy brows with myrtle and thy mother’s doves yoke to thy car. Thy step-father will give thee the chariot that befits thee, and upon that chariot, amid the acclamations of the throng, thou shalt stand a conqueror, guiding with skill thy harnessed birds. Captives in thy train, youths and maidens shall follow, and splendid shall be thy triumph. And I, thy latest victim, shall be there with my fresh wound, and with submissive mien I will bear my new-wrought fetters. Prudence shall be led captive with hands bound behind her back, and Modesty, and whatsoever else is an obstacle to Love. All things shall be in awe of thee, and stretching forth their arms towards thee the throng with mighty voice shall thunder “Io Triumphe!” Caresses shall be thy escort, and Illusion and Madness, a troop that ever follows in thy train. With these fighting on thy side, nor men nor gods shall stand against thee; but if their aid be lacking, naked shalt thou be. Proud to behold thy triumph, thy mother will applaud thee from High Olympus and scatter roses on thy upturned face. Thy wings and thy locks shall be adorned with precious stones, and all with gold resplendent shalt thou drive thy golden car. Then too, if I know thee well, thou wilt set countless other hearts on fire, and many a wound shalt deal as thou passest on thy way. Repose, even when thou art fain to rest, cometh not to thine arrows. Thy ardent flame turns water itself to vapour. Such was Bacchus when he triumphed over the land of the Ganges. Thou art drawn along by doves; his car was drawn by tigers. Since, then, I am to have a part in thy godlike triumph, lose not the rights which thy victory gives thee over me. Bethink thee of the victories of thy kinsman Cæsar; he shields the conquered with the very hand that conquers them.

    – – –

    Thus it will be; slender arrows are lodged in my heart,
    and Love vexes the chest that it has seized.
    Should I surrender or stir up the sudden flame by battling it?
    I will surrender; a burden becomes light when it is carried willingly.
    - Ovid, translation by J. Lewis May

    Slender arrows lodged in my heart: red amber, benzoin, red musk, bourbon geranium, oak bark, Atlas cedar, and 13-year aged Sumatran patchouli.

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  • Signior Dildo

    $24

    With thanks to Sir John Wilmot.

    This signior is sound, safe, ready, and dumb
    As ever was candle, carrot, or thumb;
    Then away with these nasty devices, and show
    How you rate the just merit of Signior Dildo.

     

    Count Cazzo, who carries his nose very high,
    In passion he swore his rival should die;
    Then shut himself up to let the world know
    Flesh and blood could not bear it from Signior Dildo.

    A rabble of pricks who were welcome before,
    Now finding the porter denied them the door,
    Maliciously waited his coming below
    And inhumanly fell on Signior Dildo.

    Nigh wearied out, the poor stranger did fly,
    And along the Pall Mall they followed full cry;
    The women concerned from every window
    Cried, ‘For heaven’s sake, save Signior Dildo.’

    The good Lady Sandys burst into a laughter
    To see how the ballocks came wobbling after,
    And had not their weight retarded the foe,
    Indeed’t had gone hard with Signior Dildo.

     

    A scent of pearls and ivory: orris, violet leaf, narcissus, and Madagascar vanilla.

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  • Smut

    $24

    Quintessential BPAL filth. Three swarthy, smutty musks sweetened with sugar and woozy with dark booze notes.

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  • The Doom of Beauty

    $24

    Choice soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,
    Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,
    What beauties heaven and nature can create,
    The paragon of all their works to be!
    Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety,
    Have found a home, as from thy outward state
    We clearly read, and are so rare and great
    That they adorn none other like to thee!
    Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul;
    Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes
    Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat.
    What law, what destiny, what fell control,
    What cruelty, or late or soon, denies
    That death should spare perfection so complete?
    - Michelangelo Buonarroti

    An opulent, bittersweet Renaissance-inspired fragrance: Hungary water, parma violets, and roseated oil.

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Limited Edition - Lupercalia 2015 - Box of Bonbons

This year’s Box of Bonbons is particularly peculiar –

Limited Edition - Lupercalia 2015 - Ode to Venus

While I would dearly love to share artwork here for the following three Lupercalia subsets, in the interest of protecting those that are underage or possess delicate sensibilities, I’ll only be listing the notes here. Please refer to our web site for the naughty bits.

++ ODE TO VENUS
A line inspired by the timeless beauty of vintage nude postcard photography; in our vision, each of these women illustrates a facet of the splendor of the Roman goddess of love.

Venus, bright Goddess of the skies,
To whom unnumbered temples rise,
Jove’s daughter fair, whose wily arts
Delude fond lovers of their hearts;
Oh, listen gracious to my prayer,
And free my mind from anxious care.

If e’er you heard my ardent vow,
Propitious goddess, hear me now!
And oft my ardent vow you’ve heard,
By Cupid’s friendly aid preferred,
Oft left the golden courts of Jove
To listen to my tales of love.

The radiant car your sparrows drew;
You gave the word, and swift they flew,
Through liquid air they winged their way,
I saw their quivering pinions play:
To my plain roof they bore their queen,
Of aspect mild and look serene.

Soon as you came by your command,
Back flew the wantoned, feathered band,
Then, with a sweet enchanting look,
Divinely smiling, thus you spoke;
“Why didst thou call me to thy cell?
Tell me, my gentle Sappho, tell.

“What healing medicine shall I find
To cure thy love-distempered mind?
Say, shall I lend thee all my charms
To win young Phaon to thy arms?
Or does some other swain subdue
Thy heart? my Sappho, tell me, who?

“Though now, averse, thy charms he slight,
He soon shall view thee with delight:
Though now he scorns thy gifts to take,
He soon to thee shall offerings make;
Though now thy beauties fail to move,
He soon shall melt with equal love.”

Once more, O Venus! hear my prayer,
And ease my mind of anxious care;
Again vouchsafe to be my guest,
And calm this tempest in my breast!
To thee, bright queen, my vows aspire;
O grant me all my heart’s desire!

Limited Edition - Lupercalia 2015 - Ode to Mars

To strike a balance with this year’s Ode to Venus, we present an Ode the God of War and Agriculture: a series of six emboldening, strengthening, fertile scents that embody dominance, power, vitality, and sexual potency.

Magnanimous, unconquer’d, boistrous Mars,
In darts rejoicing, and in bloody wars
Fierce and untam’d, whose mighty pow’r can make
The strongest walls from their foundations shake:
Mortal destroying king, defil’d with gore, 5
Pleas’d with war’s dreadful and tumultuous roar:
Thee, human blood, and swords, and spears delight,
And the dire ruin of mad savage fight.
Stay, furious contests, and avenging strife,
Whose works with woe, embitter human life; 10
To lovely Venus, and to Bacchus yield,
To Ceres give the weapons of the field;
Encourage peace, to gentle works inclin’d,
And give abundance, with benignant mind.

Limited Edition - Lupercalia 2015 - Shunga

A limited edition Salon series celebrating the joy, humor, playfulness, and thrill of sexual intercourse through scent interpretations of Edo era Japanese erotic art.

Limited Edition - A Little Lunacy

  • Terra Vigoris

    $23

    The Land of Cheerfulness: blood orange and apricot with Chinese geranium, Italian bergamot, langsat pulp, cardamom, white peach, and white sandalwood.

    Out of Stock

Limited Edition - Limited Edition: Neil Gaiman

  • Lemon-Scented Sticky Bat

    4.00 out of 5
    $26

    …last week Maddy woke me up early in the morning.

    “Daddy,” she said, “There's a bat on the kitchen window.”

    “Grumphle,” I said and went back to sleep.

    Soon, she woke me up again. “I did a drawing of the bat on the kitchen window,” she said, and showed me her drawing. For a five year old she's a very good artist. It was a schematic of the kitchen windows, showing a bat on one of the windows.

    “Very nice dear,” I said. Then I went back to sleep.

    When I went downstairs…

    We have, instead of dangling fly papers, transparent strips of gluey clear plastic, about six inches long and an inch high, stuck to the windows on the ground floor. When they accumulate enough flies, you peel them off the window and throw them away.

    There was a bat stuck to one. He was facing out into the room. “I think he's dead,” said my assistant Lorraine.

    I peeled the plastic off the window. The bat hissed at me.

    “Nope,” I said. “He's fine. Just stuck.”

    The question then became, how does one get a bat (skin and fur) off a fly-strip. Luckily, I bethought me of the Bram Stoker award. After the door had fallen off (see earler in this topic) I had bought some citrus solvent to take the old glue to reglue the door on.

    So I dripped citrus solvent onto the grumpy bat, edging him off the plastic with a twig, until a lemon-scented sticky bat crawled onto a newspaper. Which I put on the top of a high woodpile, and watched the bat crawl into the logs. With any luck he was as right as rain the following night…

    Sticky-sweet iced lemon sugar!

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