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  Qandisa Perfume Oil

  The Moroccan Goddess of Carnal Desire. Dwelling in fresh-water springs and rivers, she is doom: her embrace drives men mad with mindless lust. Sacrifices are made to the Lady of Lust on the Summer Solstice in the hopes of placating her passions and driving her red-tinged gaze away. Black musk, blackened saffron, lemon peel, and vetiver draped over thick honey.

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  Knucklebones Perfume Oil

  You hear a clatter on the ground behind you, and a small bleached bone smacks against your foot. Cloaked in shadows between the tents, three men crouch playing knucklebones. Distress clouds the face of one of the men, while another bursts into a wicked smile and the last one sighs in relief. Scooping up his winnings and shaking his head, the victor makes a soft ‘tsk’ noise as he reaches towards the loser’s chest, positioning his hand over the man’s heart. Pressing forward, his hand moves through cloth, flesh, muscle, and bone to extract the beating organ. Tossing the heart onto the ground, he says to you, “Mind handing me those bones, buddy? I’ve got a game to run here.”

  Black musk, bay rum, lime fougere, orange blossom water, gin, and tobacco.

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  Arachnina, The Spider Girl Perfume Oil

  You move towards the first stage on your right, and as you walk, you feel something brush across your cheek. Something about the softness of the phantom caress makes your skin crawl, and you flinch involuntarily. At that moment, the Spider Girl strides haughtily onto the platform, her stiletto heels clicking a strange staccato as she walks. Her body is wrapped in skin-tight strips of black PVC, and the gleaming vinyl glistens in stark contrast to the alabaster skin on her six pale, white arms. She gestures to the rafters above with a graceful flick of her blood-red nails. In dread, your eyes are drawn skyward: above her, in a gossamer snare, web-shrouded bodies twist and struggle.

  A swirling, hypnotic perfume of black currant, poppy, red and black musk, lilies, nicotiana, tobacco tar, and patchouli.

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  Incubus Perfume Oil

  As if, with beasts’ eyes, angels led
  The way, I slip back to your bed,
  Quiet as a hooded light,
  Hushed by the shadows of the night.

  And then, my dark one, you shall soon
  Embrace the cold beams of the moon,
  Around a fresh grave, the chilling hiss
  Of serpent coiled shall be my kiss.

  When morning shows his livid face
  Your bed shall feel my empty place,
  As cold as death, till fall of night.

  Others take tenderness to wife:
  Dread gives away your youth and life
  To me, to be bride of fright.

  Spectral white musk and the heart-stopping chill of sheared mint, fanned by caramel-touched body heat, and the diabolical sensuality of black musk, nicotiana, and sage.

  Select Options This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page