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  The Drunkard’s Dream Perfume Oil

  The drunk in the graveyard raised his bottle to his lips. One of the gravestones flipped over, revealing a grasping corpse; a headstone turned around, flowers replaced by a grinning skull. A wraith appeared on the right of the church, while on the left of the church something with a half-glimpsed, pointed, unsettlingly birdlike face, a pale, Boschian nightmare, glided smoothly from a headstone into the shadows and was gone. Then the church door opened, a priest came out, and the ghosts, haunts, and corpses vanished, and only the priest and the drunk were left alone in the graveyard. The priest looked down at the drunk disdainfully, and backed through the open door, which closed behind him, leaving the drunk on his own.

  The clockwork story was deeply unsettling. Much more unsettling, thought Shadow, than clockwork has any right to be.

  “You know why I show that to you?” asked Czernobog.

  “No.”

  “That is the world as it is. That is the real world. It is there, in that box.”

  Red currant and labdanum with opoponax, vetiver, grave moss, white sandalwood, and khus.

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  Death Adder Perfume Oil

  Snake Oil with vetiver, black coconut, vanilla, and opoponax.

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  Brusque Violet Perfume Oil

  `I never saw anybody that looked stupider,’ a Violet said, so suddenly, that Alice quite jumped; for it hadn’t spoken before.

  `Hold your tongue!’ cried the Tiger-lily. `As if you ever saw anybody! You keep your head under the leaves, and snore away there, till you know no more what’s going on in the world, that if you were a bud!’ 

  `Are there any more people in the garden besides me?’ Alice said, not choosing to notice the Rose’s last remark.

  `There’s one other flower in the garden that can move about like you,’ said the Rose. `I wonder how you do it — ‘ (`You’re always wondering,’ said the Tiger-lily), `but she’s more bushy than you are.’

  `Is she like me?’ Alice asked eagerly, for the thought crossed her mind, `There’s another little girl in the garden, somewhere!’

  `Well, she has the same awkward shape as you,’ the Rose said, `but she’s redder — and her petals are shorter, I think.’

  `Her petals are done up close, almost like a dahlia,’ the Tiger-lily interrupted: `not tumbled about anyhow, like yours.’

  `But that’s not your fault,’ the Rose added kindly: `you’re beginning to fade, you know — and then one can’t help one’s petals getting a little untidy.’

  Violet petal, violet leaf, osmanthus, orris, mint, and opoponax.

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  Horreur Sympathique Perfume Oil

  From livid skies that, without end,
  As stormy as your future roll,
  What thoughts into your empty soul
  (Answer me, libertine!) descend?

  – Insatiable yet for all
  That turns on darkness, doom, or dice,
  I’ll not, like Ovid, mourn my fall,
  Chased from the Latin paradise.

  Skies, torn like seacoasts by the storm!
  In you I see my pride take form,
  And the huge clouds that rush in streams

  Are the black hearses of my dreams,
  And your red rays reflect the hell,
  In which my heart is pleased to dwell.

  The perfume of a hellbound soul, gleefully lost to iniquity: blood musk, golden honey, thick black wine, champagne grapes, tobacco flower, plum blossom, tonka bean, oakmoss, carnation, benzoin, opoponax, and sugar cane.

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