Weenies, Ligeia, Phoenix
 
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Alice, The Reaper of Cruelty

$26

Alice

Alice, The Reaper of Cruelty

$26

Bourbon geranium emboldened by the rich scent of aged patchouli, the sweetness of peach, raspberry leaf, and bourbon vanilla, surrounded by a butterfly swarm of spicy carnation and Italian bergamot.

Product Description

++PRETTY DEADLY
Perfume oil blends, $26.00 per 5ml bottle.
Presented in an amber apothecary glass vial.
Because of the nature of this project, imps are unavailable.
MARVELCoverTemp copy.indt

PRETTY DEADLY is a mythic western, a tale of retribution and redemption, that begins at the gallows and ends in Death’s domain.  It is a story told by a dead rabbit to a butterfly, that you are invited to quietly overhear.

Official website | Buy on Amazon | On Image Comics

Kelly Sue DeConnick and Emma Rios KELLY SUE DECONNICK (Avengers Assemble, Captain Marvel) & EMMA RÍOS (Dr. Strange, Osborn) reunite to bring you an all-new ongoing series that marries the magical realism of Sandman with the western brutality of Preacher. Death’s daughter rides the wind on a horse made of smoke and her face bears the skull marks of her father. Her tale of retribution is as beautifully lush as it is unflinchingly savage.

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  • Death is Venus to Her

    $23

    Death is Venus to her; her only pleasure is in death: that she may be born, she desires previously to die. She is an offspring to herself, her own father and heir, her own nurse, and always a foster-child to herself. She is herself indeed, but not the same, since she is herself, and not herself, having gained eternal life by the blessing of death.

    Cabreuva and blood red rose with myrrh, cypress, black jasmine, clove, and 7-year aged patchouli.

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  • A Rosy Colour Paints Her Claws with Honor

    $23

    Scales cover her thighs spangled with yellow metal, but a rosy colour paints her claws with honour.

    Scales of gold, rose-tinted with red musk, bourbon geranium, and vanilla absolute.

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  • A Shining Beak of Pure Horn

    $23

    She gleams resplendent with a mingling of the green emerald, and a shining beak of pure horn opens itself.

    Wild green lotus, orris root, bourbon vanilla, white sandalwood, and Egyptian musk.

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  • The Phoenix, Having Burst Her Shell

    $23

    And it suddenly increases vastly with an imperfectly formed body, and collects itself into the appearance of a well-rounded egg. After this it is formed again, such as its figure was before, and the phoenix, having burst her shell, shoots forth, even as caterpillars in the fields, when they are fastened by a thread to a stone, are wont to be changed into a butterfly.

    A perfume of freedom, regeneration, and renewal: bitter orange and tangerine with warm patchouli, tobacco absolute, glittering amber, and white musk.

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  • She Perishes That She May Live

    $23

    Afterwards she builds for herself either a nest or a tomb, for she perishes that she may live; yet she produces herself. Hence she collects juices and odours, which the Assyrian gathers from the rich wood, which the wealthy Arabian gathers; which either the Pygmæan nations, or India crops, or the Sabæan land produces from its soft bosom. Hence she heaps together cinnamon and the odour of the far-scented amomum, and balsams with mixed leaves. Neither the twig of the mild cassia nor of the fragrant acanthus is absent, nor the tears and rich drop of frankincense. To these she adds tender ears of flourishing spikenard, and joins the too pleasing pastures of myrrh. Immediately she places her body about to be changed on the strewed nest, and her quiet limbs on such a couch. Then with her mouth she scatters juices around and upon her limbs, about to die with her own funeral rites. Then amidst various odours she yields up her life, nor fears the faith of so great a deposit. In the meantime her body, destroyed by death, which proves the source of life, is hot, and the heat itself produces a flame; and it conceives fire afar off from the light of heaven: it blazes, and is dissolved into burnt ashes. And these ashes collected in death it fuses, as it were, into a mass, and has an effect resembling seed. From this an animal is said to arise without limbs, but the worm is said to be of a milky colour.

    A funereal nest of cinnamon and amomum, cassia and acanthus, spikenard and myrrh, three balsams and sweet frankincense.

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  • Blacker than the Raven Wings of Midnight

    $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.

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  • 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.

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  • Incipient Madness

    $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.

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  • The Tumultuous Vultures of Stern Passion

    $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.

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  • The White Witch

    4.33 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.

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  • 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.

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  • Visions of Autumn III

    5.00 out of 5
    $23

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

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