Search results: “Tea”

  • Roasted Tea Leaf and Night-Blooming Jasmine
  • cat stealing a fish

    Cat Stealing a Fish Perfume Oil

    Salty driftwood, seafoam ambergris, white vetiver, marine lichen, and ocean spray.

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  • TONKA BEAN, BLACK TEA, AND LEATHER
  • POMEGRANATE, WILD PLUM, AND GREEN TEA
  • WITCHES' TEA
  • Teasing Perfume Oil

    Albert Ranney Chewett

    In which the fate of one’s entire garment rests on a stray flick of a feather: mallow flower, peppermint cream, blue lilac, bourbon vanilla, benzoin, English roses, teakwood, and nutmeg.

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  • This image is decorative
  • This image is decorative
  • snow moon

    Snow Moon 2024 Perfume Oil

    Some consider December’s full moon to be Snow Moon, but the cold, bleak white silence of February also bears the name. Snowfall is at its heaviest, food is scarce, the past year’s harvest has been exhausted, and driving winds, sleet, and bitter cold make hunting near-impossible. It is a desolate time, a solitary time, a time of conservation and introspection; in February, we are confronted with loneliness and want, and are challenged to find strength in the darkness. 

    Snow, endless snow, and a glimmer of hope illuminated by the reflection of Brigid’s flame. Snowdrops pushing through a pale white blanket of crystalline musk, pale white frozen apples, white tea leaf, yuzu, and angelica root.

     

    Art by Drew Rausch!

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  • frederic

    Frederic 2024 Perfume Oil

    For some ridiculous reason, to which, however, I’ve no desire to be disloyal,
    Some person in authority, I don’t know who, very likely the Astronomer Royal,
    Has decided that, although for such a beastly month as February, twenty-eight days as a rule are plenty,
    One year in every four his days shall be reckoned as nine and twenty.
    Through some singular coincidence – I shouldn’t be surprised if it were owing to the agency of an ill-natured fairy –
    You are the victim of this clumsy arrangement, having been born in leap-year, on the twenty-ninth of February;
    And so, by a simple arithmetical process, you’ll easily discover,
    That though you’ve lived twenty-one years, yet, if we go by birthdays, you’re only five and a little bit over!

    Alas, poor Frederic the Leapling! — bound to the merry Pirates of Penzance until his twenty-first birthday.

    As his birthday comes around only every four years, so does his scent!

    Victorian whimsy and piratical romance: a reluctant seaman’s chypre sloshed with a mix of bay rum, patchouli, amber musk, dark woods, tea rose, and red currant.

     

     

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  • A SNOWY BENCH

    A Snowy Bench Perfume Oil

    Snow-covered bamboo reeds, white pear, plum blossoms, honeyed green tea, and Japanese narcissus.

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  • COUPLE IN A BATHHOUSE WITH A GO BOARD

    Couple in a Bathhouse With a Go Board Perfume Oil

    Chrysanthemum and black tea with candied lotus root.

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  • EXHAUSTED COUPLE IN THE TREASURE ROOM OF LOVE

    Exhausted Couple in the Treasure Room of Love Perfume Oil

    An effervescent lemon aldehyde with white musk, lychee, yuzu, and white tea.

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  • GLOWING VULVA AT RYOGOKU BRIDGE

    Glowing Vulva at Ryogoku Bridge 2024 Perfume Oil

    Cream accord, amber, teak, and lotus blossom.

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  • hallway of a train station

    Hallway of a Train Station Perfume Oil

    Wild plums, black tea, a splash of lilac cologne, a flutter of silk, hot iron, steel, and smoke.

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  • HOUSE CLEANING IN PREPARATION FOR NEW YEAR’S EVE

    House Cleaning in Preparation for New Year’s Eve Perfume Oil

    Green tea and blackcurrant with cassis, lemon peel, raspberry leaf, and white pine.

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  • insatiable widow

    Insatiable Widow Perfume Oil

    Jasmine tea and lapsang souchong, white ginger, clove bud, soft lichen, osmanthus buds, green patchouli, and amber.

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  • Koi no Yatsufuji

    Koi No Yatsufuji Perfume Oil

    Red musk chypre draped in silk cords, abalone accord, black tea, frankincense, polished teakwood, plum leaf, and cognac.

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  • LEISURELY SWIM

    Leisurely Swim Perfume Oil

    Freshwater lichen, osmanthus absolute, yuzu, blonde tobacco, frankincense, pink apple, a waft of incense, and green tea.

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  • lychee vulva

    Lychee Vulva Perfume Oil

    Lychee, pink peppercorn, rosehip tea, pink peonies, angelica, and ylang ylang.

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  • the rice field

    The Rice Field Perfume Oil

    Rice milk, hay absolute, Oolong tea, honey dust, champaca, frankincense smoke, golden sandalwood, and heliotrope.

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  • two married couples in a bathhouse

    Two Married Couples in a Bathhouse Perfume Oil

    Cherry blossoms, violet root, muguet, green tea, crystalline musk, and yuzu.

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  • the desire of thy furious embraces

    The Desire of Thy Furious Embraces Perfume Oil

    The desire of thy furious embraces

    Is more than the wisdom of years,

    On the blossom though blood lie in traces,

    Though the foliage be sodden with tears.

    For the lords in whose keeping the door is

    That opens on all who draw breath

    Gave the cypress to love, my Dolores,

    The myrtle to death.

     

    Cypress, honey myrtle, yew, peace lily, ivy, and black rose.

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  • In the darkness they murmured and mingled

    In the Darkness They Murmured and Mingled Perfume Oil

    And they laughed, changing hands in the measure,

    And they mixed and made peace after strife;

    Pain melted in tears, and was pleasure;

    Death tingled with blood, and was life.

    Like lovers they melted and tingled,

    In the dusk of thine innermost fane;

    In the darkness they murmured and mingled,

    Our Lady of Pain.

     

    Labdanum, black plum, black currant, violet, and champaca flower.

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  • quicken the soul through the blood

    Quicken the Soul Through the Blood Perfume Oil

    Thou shalt touch and make redder his roses

    With juice not of fruit nor of bud;

    When the sense in the spirit reposes,

    Thou shalt quicken the soul through the blood.

    Thine, thine the one grace we implore is,

    Who would live and not languish or feign,

    O sleepless and deadly Dolores,

    Our Lady of Pain.

     

    Cacao, red patchouli, night-blooming jasmine, Roman chamomile, and white tea.

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  • WARY SAMURAI WITH GIANT HARIGATA

    Wary Samurai with Giant Harigata Hair Gloss

    Teakwood, bamboo, and cypress with amber oud, crystallized ginger, and ti leaf.

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  • winter dildo

    Winter Dildo Hair Gloss

    Sweet amber, chilled lemon peel, green tea, green cardamom pod, and incense smoke.

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  • the brothel's lattice window

    The Brothel’s Lattice Window Atmosphere Spray

    Green tea, rose wine, scarlet musk, dried jasmine petals, ume blossom, cherrywood, rice powder, coconut husk, and white amber.

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  • the contemplator

    The Contemplator Perfume Oil

    Eugène Carrière

    A soft, warm, meditative blend of balsam tolu, tonka absolute, vetiver, bourbon vanilla, palo santo, sandalwood, and Indonesian teak.

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  • beaver moon

    Beaver Moon 2023 Perfume Oil

    Beeving it up this year with matcha tea cheesecake.

     

    Art by Drew Rausch!

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  • LAVENDER EARL GREY COOKIES

    Lavender Earl Grey Cookies Perfume Oil

    A bitter, tea-stained ache soothed by softly herbaceous sugar cookies.

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  • CARVED WOODEN BAWDY HOUSE

    Carved Wooden Bawdy House Perfume Oil

    Let your fingers wander along this ornately carved teak banister, polished to a high gloss by the rough hands of countless miniature clients being led upstairs to taste trickles of sugar maple sap, illuminated by a cherry-red light and suffused with decadent, lustrous perfumes.

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  • midnight mass

    Midnight Mass Perfume Oil

    I will wash my hands among the innocent; and will compass thy altar, O Lord: That I may hear the voice of thy praise: and tell of all thy wondrous works. I have loved, O Lord, the beauty of thy house; and the place where thy glory dwelleth. Take not away my soul, O God, with the wicked: nor my life with bloody men: In whose hands are iniquities: their right hand is filled with gifts.

     

    But as for me, I have walked in my innocence: redeem me, and have mercy on me. My foot hath stood in the direct way: in the churches I will bless thee, O Lord.

     

    In Roman Catholic tradition, the Christmas season begins liturgically on Christmas Eve, though it is forbidden to celebrate the Christmas Mass before midnight. The most devout attend Midnight Mass, celebrating both the Eucharist and the drama of the Nativity.

     

    This perfume is a traditional Roman Catholic sacramental incense, most often used during a Solemn Mass. Traditionally, five tears of this incense, each encased individually in wax that has been fashioned into the shape of a nail, are inserted into the paschal candle. This is, of course, represents the Five Wounds of Our Risen Savior. Symbolically, the burning of the incense signifies spiritual fervor, the fragrance itself inspires virtue, and the rising smoke carries our prayers to God.

     

    Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem caeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium.

     

    Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum, et ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum non factum, consubstantialem Patri; per quem omnia facta sunt. Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram salutem descendit de caelis. Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine, et homo factus est. Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus et sepultus est, et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas, et ascendit in caelum, sedet ad dexteram Patris. Et iterum venturus est cum gloria, iudicare vivos et mortuos, cuius regni non erit finis.

     

    Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vivificantem, qui ex Patre procedit. Qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur: qui locutus est per prophetas. Et unam, sanctam, catholicam et apostolicam Ecclesiam. Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum, et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen.

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  • THE PICTURE OF DORIAN SUFGANIYOT

    The Picture of Dorian Sufganiyot Perfume Oil

    It has mysteriously stayed fresh for decades… but you REALLY don’t want to see the pastry in the attic.

     

    A deep-fried fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea.

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  • AGREEMENT

    Agreement Perfume Oil

    Hans Printz

    Blackened lilac, lavender incense tar, bone sandalwood, labdanum, hemlock accord, and frankincense tears.

    Out of Stock
  • Fountain with owls

    Fountain with Owls Perfume Oil

    Ferdinando Noulian

    Lustrous white eyes hovering like lanternlight: silvered musk, iris absolute, Indian sandalwood, black tea, bergamot, snowdrop, and dried fig.

    Out of Stock
  • The Antikythera Mechanism Beard Oil

    Bronze gears spin inside a polished wooden case, and an entire universe dances within.

    Teakwood, oak, black vanilla, and tobacco.

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  • VINTAGE WITCH BLOW MOLD

    Vintage Witch Blow Mold Perfume Oil

    A plastic cauldron filled with green tea-infused white chocolate, illuminated from within by 40 watts of glowing amber.

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  • dusk in autumn

    Dusk in Autumn 2023 Perfume Oil

    Black tea, currant cake, mandrake root, a whirl of dried leaves, and hearthsmoke.

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  • batty maiden

    Batty Maiden Perfume Oil

    White tea, black carnation, Damask rose, indigo musk, and leather.

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  • Elizabeth’s Imps Perfume Oil

    Coming later into his own yard, the informant saw a black thing proportioned like a cat, only that it was thrice as big, sitting on a strawberry bed and fixing its luminous eyes on him. But when he ran towards it, it suddenly leaped over the palings and ran towards the informant as he thought, but instead, it fled through the yard with his greyhound in hot pursuit after it to a great gate which was ‘underset with a pair of tumbrell strings,’ and it did throw the said gate wide open and then vanished. And the said greyhound returned to the informant shaking and trembling exceedingly.

     

    Sterne gave evidence on the same day, and much to the same effect, but said that the white imp was like a cat but not so big, and when he asked Elizabeth whether she was not afraid of her imps she answered, “What! Do you think I am afraid of my children?” and she called the imp Jarmara as having red spots, and spoke of two more called Sack and Sugar. Four other witnesses confirmed the story practically in its entirety.

     

    Elizabeth Clarke herself gave evidence of them, and said Anne West had sent her a ‘thing like a little kitlyn,’ which would obtain food for her. Two or three nights after this promise, a white thing came to her in the night, and the night after a grey one spoke to her and said it would do her no hurt and would help her to get a husband.

     

    A promise in the shadows: black molasses, cinnamon bark, and glowing amber.

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  • mummy milk

    Mummy Milk Perfume Oil

    Condensed milk wrapped in coconut shavings and tea-stained linen with a hint of bitumen, myrrh, and embalming resins.

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  • ALL OF THEIR HEADS

    All of Their Heads Fell Off Perfume Oil

    So there’s a guy living in a little place that’s in the desert

    And then there’s many, many, many, many, many different bodies

    And then all of them, all of their heads fall off

    all of their heads fall off

    all of their heads fall off

     

    And then, they start going to his house and tearing open the windows and breaking the house and eating the guy.

     

    Oozing cactus flesh, creosote, dusty boards, and gruesome globs of blood musk.

     

    Original story by A.S.H. 

     

    Art by John Herndon

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  • things are fine

    Things are Fine Perfume Oil

    As they are,
    Things are fine,
    Sweeping fallen leaves.
    – Santoka


    Label artwork: Sakai Hoitsu

     

    The blissful contentment of committing to exist in the moment: white sandalwood smoke, hinoki, white tea, and falling leaves.

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  • Blue Moon Perfume Oil

    The spirit of the full moon is capricious, intense and passionate, yet still distant, aloof and cold. Luna herself governs glamours, bewitchments and dream-work, innocent wonder, transient pleasure and delight, the Moment, impulse, mystery and veils. The Blue Moon is one of her rarest manifestations, and this scent is formulated to encapsulate her most complex and profound nature:

     

    Mugwort and bay, for psychic sensitivity…

    Juniper, for divination through dreams…

    Lavender and almond oil for clarity and relaxation…

    Orchid and purple sage for complexity, wisdom and noscere…

     

    …with a potent lunar-charged blend of exquisite woods, moonflower, Madagascan ylang ylang, Florentine iris, starry bergamot, elemi, green tea absolute, palmarosa, cucumber, Clary sage, lettuce leaf, melilot trefoils, and wood aloes.

    Art by Drew Rausch!

    Out of Stock
  • A vintage-looking photograph of an old-fashioned pen and inkwell with text reading "Early Affection"

    Early Affection Perfume Oil

    George Moses Horton
    I lov’d thee from the earliest dawn,
           When first I saw thy beauty’s ray,
    And will, until life’s eve comes on,
           And beauty’s blossom fades away;
    And when all things go well with thee,
    With smiles and tears remember me.
     
    I’ll love thee when thy morn is past,
           And wheedling gallantry is o’er,
    When youth is lost in age’s blast,
           And beauty can ascend no more,
    And when life’s journey ends with thee,
    O, then look back and think of me.
     
    I’ll love thee with a smile or frown,
           ’Mid sorrow’s gloom or pleasure’s light,
    And when the chain of life runs down,
           Pursue thy last eternal flight,
    When thou hast spread thy wing to flee,
    Still, still, a moment wait for me.
     
    I’ll love thee for those sparkling eyes,
          To which my fondness was betray’d,
    Bearing the tincture of the skies,
          To glow when other beauties fade,
    And when they sink too low to see,
    Reflect an azure beam on me.

    A love eternal, thrumming beyond death: honeyed red fruits, Bulgarian rose, mimosa, heliotrope, and red sandalwood.

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  • The Midnight Carnival Perfume Oil

    There were nine wagons, each draped in black, each drawn by a lean black horse, and each baring barred sides like teeth when the wind blew through the black hangings. The lead wagon was driven by a squat old woman, and it bore signs on its shrouded sides that said in big letters: MOMMY FORTUNA’S MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL. And below, in smaller print: Creatures of night, brought to light.

    Cruelty and confinement, small magics and penny illusions: galbanum, teak, myrrh, narcissus, mandrake root, patchouli, cacao, labdanum, agarwood, lavender, neroli, and black moss.

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  • Elli’s Song Perfume Oil

    “Most shows,” said Rukh after a time, “would end here, for what could they possibly present after a genuine unicorn? But Mommy Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival holds one more mystery yet — a demon more destructive than the dragon, more monstrous than the manticore, more hideous than the harpy, and certainly more universal than the unicorn.” He waved his hand toward the last wagon and the black hangings began to wriggle open, though there was no one pulling them. “Behold her!” Rukh cried. “Behold the last, the Very End! Behold Elli!”

    Inside the cage, it was darker than the evening, and cold stirred behind the bars like a live thing. Something moved in the cold, and the unicorn saw Elli — an old, bony, ragged woman who crouched in the cage rocking and warming herself before a fire that was not there. She looked so frail that the weight of the darkness should have crushed her, and so helpless and alone that the watchers should have rushed forward in pity to free her. Instead, they began to back silently away, for all the world as though Elli were stalking them. But she was not even looking at them. She sat in the dark and creaked a song to herself in a voice that sounded like a saw going through a tree, and like a tree getting ready to fall.

    What is plucked will grow again,
    What is slain lives on,
    What is stolen will remain —
    What is gone is gone.

    “She doesn’t look like much, does she?” Rukh asked. “But no hero can stand before her, no god can wrestle her down, no magic can keep her out — or in, for she’s no prisoner of ours. Even while we exhibit her here, she is walking among you, touching and taking. For Elli is Old Age.”

    The cold of the cage reached out to the unicorn, and wherever it touched her she grew lame and feeble. She felt herself withering, loosening, felt her beauty leaving her with her breath. Ugliness swung from her mane, dragged down her head, stripped her tail, gaunted her body, ate up her coat, and ravaged her mind with remembrance of what she had once been. Somewhere nearby, the harpy made her low, eager sound, but the unicorn would gladly have huddled in the shadow of her bronze wings to hide from this last demon. Elli’s song sawed away at her heart.

    What is sea-born dies on land,
    Soft is trod upon.
    What is given burns the hand —
    What is gone is gone.

    The horrors of entropy, death, and decay: desiccated black mosses, vetiver, bone sandalwood, olibanum, patchouli, opoponax, and ashes.

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  • The Amorous Tree Perfume Oil

    “Gently, gently,” he counseled himself. “No man with the power to summon Robin Hood — indeed, to create him — can be bound for long. A word, a wish, and this tree must be an acorn on a branch again, this rope be green in a marsh.” But he knew before he called on it that whatever had visited him for a moment was gone again, leaving only an ache where it had been. He felt like an abandoned chrysalis.

     

    “Do as you will,” he said softly. Captain Cully roused at his voice, and sang the fourteenth stanza.

     

    “There are fifty swords without the house, and fifty more within,

    And I do fear me, captain, they are like to do us in.”

    “Ha’ done, ha’ done,” says Captain Cully, “and never fear again,

    For they may be a hundred swords, but we are seven men.”

     

    “I hope you get slaughtered,” the magician told him, but Cully was asleep again. Schmendrick attempted a few simple spells for escaping, but he could not use his hands, and he had no more heart for tricks. What happened instead was that the tree fell in love with him and began to murmur fondly of the joy to be found in the eternal embrace of a red oak. “Always, always,” it sighed, “faithfulness beyond any man’s deserving. I will keep the color of your eyes when no other in the world remembers your name. There is no immortality but a tree’s love.”

     

    “I’m engaged,” Schmendrick excused himself. “To a western larch. Since childhood. Marriage by contract, no choice in the matter. Hopeless. Our story is never to be.”

     

    A gust of fury shook the oak, as though a storm were coming to it alone. “Galls and fireblight on her!” it whispered savagely. “Damned softwood, cursed conifer, deceitful evergreen, she’ll never have you! We will perish together, and all trees shall treasure our tragedy!”

     

    Along his length Schmendrick could feel the tree heaving like a heart, and he feared that it might actually split in two with rage. The ropes were growing steadily tighter around him, and the night was beginning to turn red and yellow. He tried to explain to the oak that love was generous precisely because it could never be immortal, and then he tried to yell for Captain Cully, but he could only make a small, creaking sound, like a tree. She means well, he thought, and gave himself up for loved.

     

    A tree in love: misty, rose-flecked leaves, warm bark, frankincense smoke, and shuddering branches.

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  • Cat at the Table Perfume Oil

    Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita

    Place your bets: which object will hit the floor first? Grey amber, roasted white tea, Indian sandalwood, and vanilla oud.

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  • A Snug Corner Perfume Oil

    S. Sullivan

    A daytime snooze in an inconvenient location: freshly baked bread, culinary herbs, and cinnamon-steamed apples.

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  • Yukikeisetsu Perfume Oil

    Sesshu Toyo

    Frost-tipped hinoki, balsam, frangipani, white tea, ho wood, and honey.

    Out of Stock
  • Rejane Perfume Oil

    Aubrey Beardsley


    Black tea, honey, silk brocade, and tea roses.

    Out of Stock
  • Cold Spring, The Alien Perfume Oil

    Louisa Starr Canziani


    Rain-slicked amber, wet cobblestone, ochre agarwood, tobacco absolute, tuberose, charred sandalwood, oakwood, leather, and myrrh tears dotted with cherry blossoms.

    Out of Stock
  • THE SHEPHERD'S DREAM

    The Shepherd’s Dream Perfume Oil

    Henry Fuseli

    Ambergris accord, lilac mist, grey silk ambrette, wisteria, white frankincense, champa magnolia, and pink tea roses.

    Out of Stock
  • Art for Ceres by Antoine Watteau

    Ceres Perfume Oil

    Antoine Watteau

    Billowing clouds of mallow flower, cream, and peonies, soft blushing amber, corn kernels, budding wheat, and spun sugar.

    Out of Stock
  • Imp Pack: RPG – 3 Perfume Oil

    Beholder Optician
    A clear, glassy scent, translucent and blushing, that will bring your world into sharp focus: eucalyptus leaf, white amber, pink bergamot, strawberry, and sheer, crystalline vanilla musk.

    Bugbear Doula
    A nurturing blend of motherwort, angelica root, and warm russet fur splashed with chamomile tea.

    Drider Crossing Guard
    A cautious, watchful scent: earthy, dry fig, black pepper, nutmeg, and black plum tea.

    Drow Yoga Instructor
    As silent as the deepest cavern, as serene as a twilit shadow, as graceful as a spider, and as resilient as a web: wild plum, indigo lavender, and a tranquil tendril of sandalwood incense.

    Kobold Barista
    Dungeoneering is exhausting, and sometimes the watered-down ale at the local tavern just slows you down. Before you head out on your next adventure, slather yourself in this fiery brew: freshly brewed coffee with ginger, nutmeg, cardamom, black pepper, cloves, cinnamon, and cream.

    Tiefling Therapist
    A soothing, centering blend of white and red sandalwood, champaca attar, frankincense, and brimstone.

    Out of Stock
  • Love Let Her Perfume Oil

    The act of creating Ephemera gives us the ability to stop time.

     

    Velvet-pink carnations with tea roses, peonies, and rose sandalwood with a whiff of candlesmoke

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  • Black Coffee Mug with Logo

    Black Phoenix Coffee Mug

    At Black Phoenix, we love coffee. We also love tea. We love caffeine so much that our sweat could give you a buzz.

    In order to accommodate our caffeine needs, we now carry humongous 20oz mugs. It’s the next best thing to an IV drip.

    Out of Stock
  • Drider Crossing Guard Perfume Oil

    A cautious, watchful scent: earthy, dry fig, black pepper, nutmeg, and black plum tea.

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  • Bugbear Doula Perfume Oil

    A nurturing blend of motherwort, angelica root, and warm russet fur splashed with chamomile tea.

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  • The Wellerman Perfume Oil

    There was a ship that put to sea,
    And the name of the ship was the Billy at Tea
    The wind came up, her bow dipped down,
    Blow, my bully boys, blow.

    Soon may the Wellerman come
    And bring us sugar and tea and rum.
    One day, when the tonguin’ is done,
    We’ll take our leave and go.

    She had not been two weeks from shore
    When down on her a right whale bore.
    The captain called all hands and swore
    He’d take that whale in tow.

    Before the boat had hit the water
    The whale’s tail came up and caught her.
    All hands to the side, harpooned and fought her,
    She dived down below.

    A line we dropped all in pursuit
    She raised her tail, a last salute.
    But the harpoon lodged there’s no dispute
    She dived down below.

    For six long days and six long nights
    She drove us south with all her might,
    Until we were too tired to fight,
    Then we let her go.

    The line was cut, the whale was freed;
    The Captain’s mind was not on greed.
    He belonged to the sailor’s creed
    And he let that whale go.

    Sugar, tea, and rum.

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  • I Hear America Singing Perfume Oil

    I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
    Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
    The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
    The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
    The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
    The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
    The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
    The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
    Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
    The day what belongs to the day-at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
    Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

    – Walt Whitman

    A bright, sparkling scent, effervescent with joy and fiery with rekindled hope: golden musk and crystalline amber with Calabrian lemon peel, ti leaf, sweet vetiver, ginger root, neroli, and lime blossom.

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  • Let America Be America Again Perfume Oil

    Let America be America again.
    Let it be the dream it used to be.
    Let it be the pioneer on the plain
    Seeking a home where he himself is free.

    (America never was America to me.)

    Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-
    Let it be that great strong land of love
    Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
    That any man be crushed by one above.

    (It never was America to me.)

    O, let my land be a land where Liberty
    Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
    But opportunity is real, and life is free,
    Equality is in the air we breathe.

    (There’s never been equality for me,
    Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

    Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
    And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

    I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
    I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
    I am the red man driven from the land,
    I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
    And finding only the same old stupid plan
    Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

    I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
    Tangled in that ancient endless chain
    Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
    Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
    Of work the men! Of take the pay!
    Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

    I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
    I am the worker sold to the machine.
    I am the Negro, servant to you all.
    I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-
    Hungry yet today despite the dream.
    Beaten yet today-O, Pioneers!
    I am the man who never got ahead,
    The poorest worker bartered through the years.

    Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
    In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
    Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
    That even yet its mighty daring sings
    In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
    That’s made America the land it has become.
    O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
    In search of what I meant to be my home-
    For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
    And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
    And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
    To build a “homeland of the free.”

    The free?

    Who said the free? Not me?
    Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
    The millions shot down when we strike?
    The millions who have nothing for our pay?
    For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
    And all the songs we’ve sung
    And all the hopes we’ve held
    And all the flags we’ve hung,
    The millions who have nothing for our pay-
    Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

    O, let America be America again-
    The land that never has been yet-
    And yet must be-the land where every man is free.
    The land that’s mine-the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME-
    Who made America,
    Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
    Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
    Must bring back our mighty dream again.

    Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-
    The steel of freedom does not stain.
    From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
    We must take back our land again,
    America!

    O, yes,
    I say it plain,
    America never was America to me,
    And yet I swear this oath-
    America will be!

    Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
    The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
    We, the people, must redeem
    The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
    The mountains and the endless plain-
    All, all the stretch of these great green states-
    And make America again!

    – Langston Hughes

    O, let America be America again – the land that never has been yet: waving green grasses, purple-hued amber, smoked sandalwood, bay rum, clove bud, cardamom, and black pepper.

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  • The Witch/Strega Perfume Oil

    The Witch/Strega, Angelo Caroselli, 17th Century
    “Look at this witch’s face! You know she’s going to be a cutting-clever one, uttering snarky-sneaky observations that make you both gasp and splutter with repressed laughter about mutuals you can’t stand. I want to be her Facebook friend. She’d be a scream in a Netflix watch party.”

    Leatherbound tomes and rose cream, flickering flames of twin ambers, and a cascade of shadows: black oud, teakwood, black beeswax, 13-year aged patchouli, cinnabar, balsam, sweet labdanum, tonka bean, and smoke.

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  • Dead Blonde Perfume Oil

    “Of course young women enjoy slashers. Adolescent girls have spent their lives absorbing our cultural disgust for womanhood, only to find themselves thrust into the middle of it, suddenly the butt of every joke. Their underlying anxieties are hit with a toxic sludge of predatory attention, sexual objectification, and impossible standards, growing to fifty times their natural size. It is not easy to become a monster. It is not fun to slip – suddenly and for the rest of your life – out of humanity and into womanhood. Girls are left reckoning with the fact that their social status, their human value, even their basic survival, are all suddenly contingent on men. Thus, at the exact moment they’re beginning to have sex and enter romantic relationships, girls watch stories in which a moment’s lapse in judgment, or a single instance of giving in to temptation, results and agony and annihilation – not because that’s what they want, but because it’s already happening, and they have precious few other ways to process it.”

    A wilting corsage of tea roses and white roses, bearing forensic traces of honeyed lip gloss and coconut oil suntan lotion.

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  • Aquarius Socks!

    We would never dare to tell an Aquarius what to do, or how to shop. Instead, we’ll merely leave these pictures and details here for them to discover independently, in hopes that our comfy AQUARIUS socks appeal to their eccentric and spontaneous sense of style.

    Created in the USA by the wonderful people at Sock Dreams for Black Phoenix, these socks are exclusive to Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab!

    They’re made from 80% cotton, 15% nylon and 5% elastic!

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  • We Wear the Mask Perfume Oil

    We wear the mask that grins and lies,
    It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, –
    This debt we pay to human guile;
    With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
    And mouth with myriad subtleties.

    Why should the world be over-wise,
    In counting all our tears and sighs?
    Nay, let them only see us, while
    We wear the mask.

    We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
    To thee from tortured souls arise.
    We sing, but oh the clay is vile
    Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
    But let the world dream otherwise,
    We wear the mask!

    – Paul Laurence Dunbar

    This poem – this song – is one that has moved me since my childhood, and it’s so incredibly difficult to translate it into scent. I don’t know if I am capable of doing honor to Dunbar’s words; all I can do is craft something that is akin to how much this makes my heart clench. The scent I have chosen is a soft lavender with dry woods, carrot seed and iris, sandalwood smoke, and wisteria.

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  • Imp Pack: Pirate Perfume Oil

    Anne Bonny
    A blend of Indonesian red patchouli, red sandalwood, and frankincense.

    Grog
    Arrr! Avast ye, matey! This be the scent of pirate rum!

    Jolly Roger
    Sea spray with an undercurrent of leather, Bay Rum, and salty, dry woods.

    Mary Read
    Salt air, ocean mist, aged patchouli, sarsaparilla, watered-down rum, leather-tinged musk, and a spray of gunpowder.

    Plunder
    The scent of a pirate’s bumboat, overflowing with stolen wares: tea leaf, cassia, cinnamon bark, clove, allspice, sandalwood, tobacco, peppercorn, and nutmeg.

    Port-Au-Prince
    Dark, decadent and incomparably exotic: the rich scent of buttered rum flavored with almond, bay, clove and sassafras.

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    Hypatia Perfume Oil

    HYPATIA of Alexandria (c. 355 CE – 415 CE)

    Hypatia of Alexandria is the earliest woman philosopher, astronomer, and mathematician whose legacy has survived. Her teaching attracted students from wealthy and influential families, including the future bishop Synesius of Cyrene, whose letters “To the Philosopher” are some of our few primary sources about Hypatia.

    She succeeded her father, the Greek mathematician Theon, as head of his Neoplatonist school.

    After living and teaching peacefully amidst dangerous religious conflict, Hypatia drew the ire of enemies who resented the accomplishment of a woman – and hated that a “pagan” had become the era’s preeminent astronomer and mathematician.

    Math is hard.

    Bishop Cyril of Alexandria needed only to spread slanderous rumors to provide sufficient pretext for the parabalani – a violent militia of Christian monks – to savagely torture and murder an unarmed scholar. Some say they hacked her to death with clay roofing tiles; some say they wielded oyster shells. Either way, the cowards were satisfied they had silenced her.

    Following this atrocity, Hypatia’s work was disparaged and her writings were “lost.”

    Hypatia is not forgotten.

    The ancient philosopher and astronomer is memorialized on Earth (presolar meteorite fragment “Hypatia” stone), on the Moon (Hypatia crater, Rimae Hypatia), and in the heavens (main-belt asteroid 238 Hypatia).

    Synesius of Cyrene Drags Athens in a Letter to his Brother

    …may the accursed ship-captain perish who brought me here! Athens has no longer anything sublime except the country’s famous names! Just as in the case of a victim burnt in the sacrificial fire, there remains nothing but the skin to help us to reconstruct a creature that was once alive – so ever since philosophy left these precincts, there is nothing for the tourist to admit except the Academy, the Lyceum, and – by Zeus! – the Decorated Porch which has given its name to the philosophy of Chrysippus.

    Today Egypt has received and cherishes the fruitful wisdom of Hypatia. Athens used to be the dwelling place of the wise: today the beekeepers alone bring it honor.

    Rose water and a mineralic, star-dappled blend of white musk, crystalline amber, and sweet oud.

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    I Will be Strange, Stout, in Yellow Stockings Perfume Oil

    I thank my stars I am happy. I will
    be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
    cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting
    on. Jove and my stars be praised!

    — Malvolio

    Champaca absolute, lemon peel, basmati rice, smoked vanilla husk, and green tea.

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  • Fainting Couch Home & Linen Spray

    Lush velvet cushions and prim tea rose, a splash of rose water on a lace doily, strong black tea, a whiff of pomander, and an orris root sachet.

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    The Hall of Forgotten Gods Home & Linen Spray

    He was walking through a room bigger than a city, and everywhere he looked there were statues and carvings and rough-hewn images. He was standing beside a statue of a womanlike thing: her naked breasts hung flat and pendulous on her chest, around her waist was a chain of severed hands, both of her own hands held sharp knives, and, instead of a head, rising from her neck there were twin serpents, their bodies arched, facing each other, ready to attack. There was something profoundly disturbing about the statue, a deep and violent wrongness. Shadow backed away from it.

    He began to walk through the hall. The carved eyes of those statues that had eyes seemed to follow his every step.

    In his dream, he realized that each statue had a name burning on the floor in front of it. The man with the white hair, with a necklace of teeth about his neck, holding a drum, was Leucotios; the broad-hipped woman with monsters dropping from the vast gash between her legs was Hubur; the ram-headed man holding the golden ball was Hershef.

    A precise voice, fussy and exact, was speaking to him, in his dream, but he could see no one.

    “These are gods who have been forgotten, and now might as well be dead. They can be found only in dry histories. They are gone, all gone, but their names and their images remain with us.”

    Shadow turned a corner, and knew himself to be in another room, even vaster than the first. It went on farther than the eye could see. Close to him was the skull of a mammoth, polished and brown, and a hairy ocher cloak, being worn by a small woman with a deformed left hand. Next to that were three women, each carved from the same granite boulder, joined at the waist: their faces had an unfinished, hasty look to them, although their breasts and genitalia had been carved with elaborate care; and there was a flightless bird which Shadow did not recognize, twice his height, with a beak like a vulture’s, but with human arms: and on, and on.

    The voice spoke once more, as if it were addressing a class, saying, “These are the gods who have passed out of memory. Even their names are lost. The people who worshiped them are as forgotten as their gods. Their totems are long since broken and cast down. Their last priests died without passing on their secrets.”

    “Gods die. And when they truly die they are unmourned and unremembered. Ideas are more difficult to kill than people, but they can be killed, in the end.”

    Ancient incense and charred sacrifices echoing through time.

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    Penny Rolle Perfume Oil

    If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I ain’t broke.

    …and you bastards ain’t never going to break me.

    Red sandalwood, shea, sweet patchouli, cardamom, pecan, and caramelized amber.

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    Non-Compliant Perfume Oil

    Too butch, too femme, too sexy, not sexy enough, too smart, too big, too loud, too angry.

    Sugar and bile, leather and blood, honey and rum, shredded patchouli and vetiver, tobacco and lime.

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    Marian Perfume Oil

    I don’t belong here.

    A respectable, virtuous vintage musk smeared with blood and spiked with the coppery scent of fear.

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    Kamau Kogo Perfume Oil

    Almond milk, coconut husk, and sweat-salted skin.

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    Gynotize! Perfume Oil

    A crash course in gynotism: cherry-slapped rose musk.

    Patented 3-D Gyno-Coin not included.

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    Spirit Fingers Perfume Oil

    What do we want?
    TO GIVE THEM THE FINGER!

    When do we want it?
    OH MY GOD ALL THE FUCKING TIME??

    A giant foam fuck you: cotton candy, red pepper, and clove bud.

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    Execute Confession Module Perfume Oil

    White noise, isolation, interrogation: static-white musk grating against ink-black musk, black pepper, and clove.

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    The Catholic Perfume Oil

    Search your conscience.

    Digital repentance, analog guilt: sacramental incense and a snap of ozone.

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    Big Bertha’s Big Molasses Muffins Perfume Oil

    There’s no muffin like BIG BERTHA’S. Molasses and orange make these muffins sweet, indulgent, and a little spicy, just like your grandma.

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    Agreenex Perfume Oil

    Be the you HE likes. Good to be around, any time, any day.

    A sweet and compliant sugared mint coating sour green apple.

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    Black Haüs Perfume Oil

    Shades drift through a crumbling manor. Fragrant winds chill the lifeless rooms. A skittering in the darkness.

    Overgrown ivy creeping through a neglected lavender patch, a whiff of long-forgotten cologne, indigo oudh, mahogany, and teakwood, ti leaf, ectoplasmic musk, and aged leather.

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    Anathema Device Perfume Oil

    She was a bright child, with a pale face, and black eyes and hair. As a rule she tended to make people feel uncomfortable, a family trait she had inherited, along with being more psychic than was good for her, from her great-great-great-great-great grandmother.

    She was precocious, and self-possessed. The only thing about Anathema her teachers ever had the nerve to upbraid her for was her spelling, which was not so much appalling as 300 years too late.

    White sandalwood, blackcurrant, bourbon vanilla, and warm amber.

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    Old-Fashioned Satanists Perfume Oil

    Most of the members of the convent were old-fashioned Satanists, like their parents and grandparents before them. They’d been brought up to it and weren’t, when you got right down to it, particularly evil. Human beings mostly aren’t. They just get carried away by new ideas, like dressing up in jackboots and shooting people, or dressing up in white sheets and lynching people, or dressing up in tie-dye jeans and playing guitars at people. Offer people a new creed with a costume and their hearts and minds will follow. Anyway, being brought up as a Satanist tended to take the edge off it. It was something you did on Saturday nights. And the rest of the time you simply got on with life as best you could, just like everyone else.

    A homey, marginally-diabolical blend of armchair leather, chamomile tea, cashmere, and a tangle of sweet 7-year aged patchouli.

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    Mr. Young Perfume Oil

    He finished thumbing the so-called tobacco into the pipe and glared at the little sign on the wall of the waiting room that said that, for his own comfort, he would not smoke. For his own comfort, he decided, he’d go and stand in the porch. If there was a discreet shrubbery for his own comfort out there, so much the better.

    Pipe tobacco, black tea, starched white cotton, and a very respectable aftershave.

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    Embalming Fluid Bath Oil

    A light, pure scent: white musk, green tea, aloe and lemon.

    4oz Bottle

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    Frenum Bath Oil

    Please note all bath oils are 4oz

    Wild lettuce, white tea, cucumber, and cherry blossom.

    Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess. — Oscar Wilde

    4oz Bottle

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    Invidia Bath Oil

    Please note all bath oils are 4oz

    White grapefruit, tea leaf, white ginger, orange blossom, jasmine, honey myrtle, and lime.

    O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!
    It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
    The meat it feeds on.

    4oz Bottle

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    Shanghai Bath Oil

    The crisp, clean scent of green tea touched with lemon verbena and honeysuckle.

    4oz Bottle

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    Socius Beard Oil

    A solid, steadfast blend of patchouli, smoked vanilla husk, ambergris accord, and tawny oudh.

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    No Coward Soul is Mine Perfume Oil

    No coward soul is mine
    No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
    I see Heaven’s glories shine
    And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear

    O God within my breast
    Almighty ever-present Deity
    Life, that in me hast rest,
    As I Undying Life, have power in Thee

    Vain are the thousand creeds
    That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain,
    Worthless as withered weeds
    Or idlest froth amid the boundless main

    To waken doubt in one
    Holding so fast by thy infinity,
    So surely anchored on
    The steadfast rock of Immortality.

    With wide-embracing love
    Thy spirit animates eternal years
    Pervades and broods above,
    Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

    Though earth and moon were gone
    And suns and universes ceased to be
    And Thou wert left alone
    Every Existence would exist in thee

    There is not room for Death
    Nor atom that his might could render void
    Since thou art Being and Breath
    And what thou art may never be destroyed.

    – Emily Brontë

    I Undying Life: lavender, rockrose, and pale woods.

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    I Sit and Sew Perfume Oil

    I sit and sew – a useless task it seems,
    My hands grown tired, my head weighed down with dreams –
    The panoply of war, the martial tred of men,
    Grim-faced, stern-eyed, gazing beyond the ken
    Of lesser souls, whose eyes have not seen Death,
    Nor learned to hold their lives but as a breath –
    But – I must sit and sew.

    I sit and sew – my heart aches with desire –
    That pageant terrible, that fiercely pouring fire
    On wasted fields, and writhing grotesque things
    Once men. My soul in pity flings
    Appealing cries, yearning only to go
    There in that holocaust of hell, those fields of woe –
    But – I must sit and sew.

    The little useless seam, the idle patch;
    Why dream I here beneath my homely thatch,
    When there they lie in sodden mud and rain,
    Pitifully calling me, the quick ones and the slain?
    You need me, Christ! It is no roseate dream
    That beckons me – this pretty futile seam,
    It stifles me – God, must I sit and sew?

    – Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson

    Silk threads unraveling: sheer vanilla and violet leaf with jasmine sambac, white musk, and tea leaf.

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    Dorian Beard Oil

    The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.

    Inspired by and created for my beloved Tedwin: my eternal, beautiful, wicked Dorian Gray. Refined, elegant, and lovely, with a noble bearing and seemingly gentle air. This blend is an artful deception: a sweet gilded blossom lying over a twisted and corrupted core. A Victorian fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea.

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    Imp Pack: Seven Word Story Perfume Oil

    Imp pack based on the 7 word story contest, 5ml versions found here.

    Envy
    Marble-white sandalwood, vanilla blossom, and orris root veined with whorls of ambergris accord, rose-touched with life, slowly shattering tears of bitter carrot seed and cistus.

    Gluttony
    Sea splash on murky labdanum and gleaming olibanum, veiled in lavender, diaphanous osmanthus, gilded saffron, and honey incense.

    Lust
    Chthonic incense and blood-red pomegranate.

    Pride
    A swampy blend of Spanish moss, green tea, green oakmoss, celery seed, cucumber, and murky black patchouli.

    Sloth
    Banana weighed down by blackened cacao, bourbon vetiver, and tobacco absolute.

    Wrath
    Bitter almond swirled into black patchouli, with red amber, rum absolute, and lemon peel.

    Out of Stock
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    Luke 10:25-37 Perfume Oil

    On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

    “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

    He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind'[c]; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'”

    “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

    But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

    In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii[e] and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

    “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

    The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

    Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

    Go and do likewise: golden amber and saffron, white sandalwood, and clove.

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    Seven Word Story: Pride Perfume Oil

    The subject of our latest #BPAL7wordstory contest was Pride. The winning entry was submitted by Cam Collins:

    The alligator selfie was a bad idea.

    A swampy blend of Spanish moss, green tea, green oakmoss, celery seed, cucumber, and murky black patchouli.

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    Take a Knee Perfume Oil

    This weekend, Trump attacked the US Constitution’s guarantee of freedom of speech and took aim at the football players who are peacefully protesting police brutality, inequality, bigotry, and racism. He’s calling for a boycott of an entire sports league to force the firing of African American athletes and their allies for speaking out about racial injustice.

    Taking a knee… this isn’t a protest of America itself, its flag, or anything that this country stands for. It isn’t disrespectful of the US military. On the contrary, it is the acknowledgement that we as a country can do better, that we must do better, and that we must renew our commitment to fight for equality and justice for all. By speaking out against institutional racism and racial injustice, against violence and bigotry, whether it be by taking a knee, locking arms with teammates, refusing to walk out onto a playing field until after the National Anthem has been sung, editorializing on social media, or making protest perfumes, we are honoring our communities, our neighbors, and our nation by attempting to amplify the voices of those who are often not empowered to speak.

    It is possible and necessary to love this country and also expect – and demand – that we do better… that we recognize injustice when we see it, and do what we can to fight it. That’s real patriotism.

    “We have fought for America with all of her imperfections. Not so much for what she is but for what we know she can be.” – Mary Bethune

    This is the scent of apple pie, as American as it gets, and a smudged grass stain. The proceeds from every single sale of this scent will benefit the NAACP.

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    Seven Word Story: Envy Perfume Oil

    The subject of our latest #BPAL7wordstory contest was Envy. The winning entry was submitted by Tyler Butler:

    Galatea wept as Pygmalion carved new statues

    Marble-white sandalwood, vanilla blossom, and orris root veined with whorls of ambergris accord, rose-touched with life, slowly shattering tears of bitter carrot seed and cistus.

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    The Torture Queen Perfume Oil

    White amber, vanilla musk, white tea, ambergris, gardenia, and chrome.

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    Marcilla Perfume Oil

    Blue lilac, lily of the valley, golden musk, beeswax, white ginger, bergamot, green tea, and nectarine.

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    Harper Perfume Oil

    Pale bergamot, labdanum, white incense, vanilla-tinged musk, Burmese oudh and tea rose.

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    Daiyu Perfume Oil

    Moroccan jasmine, chrysanthemum, tea leaf, white musk, and acai berry.

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    Clémence Perfume Oil

    Patchouli, Kashmiri tea, cardamom, black pepper, carnation, and clove.

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    Ashlultum Perfume Oil

    Babylonian musk, vanilla tea, tonka, tobacco, coconut, hyssop, and lilac.

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    Agrat-Bat-Mahlaht Perfume Oil

    Amber, cream accord, white honey, apple blossom, skin musk, caramel, and teak.

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    Solanine, the Flower Girl Perfume Oil

    In the distance, you hear the discordant tolling of churchbells, uneven and strangely triumphant. As you turn towards the beckoning clang, you feel something brush across your neck: a gentle caress before a hundred pricking trichomes tear at your skin. There is a sudden whipping sensation and a clench of movement, and your throat is clamped in a rigid green noose.

    A raspy voice whispers, “Pardon,” and the grip on you loosens.

    A woman stands behind you. She holds a basket overflowing with creeping vines and flowers: razor-thorned roses, vibrant bursts of oleander, drooping cascades of wisteria, sprays of white hemlock and lily of the valley, bruise-blue pillows of aconite, purple-veined henbane, and the snapping jaws of monstrously large flytraps, glistening wet with mucilage. Her clothes smell faintly of manchineel smoke, and her fingertips are stained green. She smiles and shudders as the green tendrils that surround her writhe and contract. She plucks a red-spotted mushroom from her basket and places it gently in your palm before turning away.

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    The Silver Dollar Perfume Oil

    His fingers closed around the Liberty dollar in his pocket, and he remembered Zorya Polunochnaya, and the way she had looked at him in the moonlight. Did you ask her what she wanted? It is the wisest thing to ask the dead. Sometimes they will tell you.

    Gilded iris and Siamese benzoin, silvery-white musk, white tea leaf, and bergamot.

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    Chad Perfume Oil

    “Everything okay here?” said a cop inside.

    Shadow’s first, automatic instinct was to say Yup, everything’s just fine and jimdandy thank you officer. But it was too late for that, and he started to say, “I think I’m freezing. I was walking into Lakeside to buy food and clothes, but I underestimated the length of the walk”—he was that far through the sentence in his head, when he realized that all that had came out was “F-f-freezing,” and a chattering noise, and he said, “So s-sorry. Cold. Sorry.”

    The cop pulled open the back door of the car and said, “You get in there this moment and warm yourself up, okay?” Shadow climbed in gratefully, and he sat in the back and rubbed his hands together, trying not to worry about frostbitten toes. The cop got back in the driver’s seat. Shadow stared at him through the metal grille. Shadow tried not to think about the last time he’d been in the back of a police car, or to notice that there were no door handles in the back, and to concentrate instead on rubbing life back into his hands. His face hurt and his red fingers hurt, and now, in the warmth, his toes were starting to hurt once more. That was, Shadow figured, a good sign.

    The cop put the car in drive and moved off. “You know, that was,” he said, not turning to look at Shadow, just talking a little louder, “if you’ll pardon me saying so, a real stupid thing to do. You didn’t hear any of the weather advisories? It’s minus thirty out there. God alone knows what the windchill is, minus sixty, minus seventy, although I figure when you’re down at minus thirty, windchill’s the least of your worries.”

    “Thanks,” said Shadow. “Thanks for stopping. Very, very grateful.”

    “Woman in Rhinelander went out this morning to fill her bird feeder in her robe and carpet slippers and she froze, literally froze, to the sidewalk. She’s in intensive care now. It was on the TV this morning. You’re new in town.” It was almost a question, but the man knew the answer already.

    “I came in on the Greyhound last night. Figured today I’d buy myself some warm clothes, food, and a car. Wasn’t expecting this cold.”

    “Yeah,” said the cop. “It took me by surprise as well. I was too busy worrying about global warming. I’m Chad Mulligan. I’m the chief of police here in Lakeside.”

    The scent of a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

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    The Jeweled Spider Perfume Oil

    He was looking at Mr. Nancy, an old black man with a pencil mustache, in his check sports jacket and his lemon-yellow gloves, riding a carousel lion as it rose and lowered, high in the air; and, at the same time, in the same place, he saw a jeweled spider as high as a horse, its eyes an emerald nebula, strutting, staring down at him; and simultaneously he was looking at an extraordinarily tall man with teak-colored skin and three sets of arms, wearing a flowing ostrich-feather headdress, his face painted with red stripes, riding an irritated golden lion, two of his six hands holding on tightly to the beast’s mane; and he was also seeing a young black boy, dressed in rags, his left foot all swollen and crawling with blackflies; and last of all, and behind all these things, Shadow was looking at a tiny brown spider, hiding under a withered ocher leaf.

    Shadow saw all these things, and he knew they were the same thing.

    “If you don’t close your mouth,” said the many things that were Mr. Nancy, “somethin’s goin’ to fly in there.”

    Cigarillo smoke, spatters of ice cream sundae, a supersized mug of coffee, a pile of fruit, and a little bit of curried goat.

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    Theoi Nomioi Perfume Oil

    In response to the National Park Service retweeting a New York Times piece on Trump’s Inauguration numbers, Trump’s fragile ego demanded that his administration order the NPS to stop all tweets.

    The National Park Service refuses to be muzzled. On January 24th, South Dakota’s Badlands National Park social media team defiantly posted a series of climate change facts from the National Wildlife Federation before being shut down. Since then, anonymous employees from the National Park Service started a rogue twitter account:

    https://twitter.com/AltNatParkSer

    These courageous federal employees are risking their careers to ensure that the public is kept informed on issues of climate change. They are fighting for transparency, truth, and science, and they deserve every ounce of support we can offer them. Tweet, email, FB, and phone in your support. Visit your local National Parks and thank the employees there in person. Donate to the National Parks Conservation Association and the National Park Foundation.

    For them, for us, for the sake of the First Amendment, the environment, our state parks, and our future, we honor the bravery and chutzpah of these NPS employees with a scent that benefits the National Parks Conservation Association and the National Park Foundation.

    THEOI NOMIOI
    The Theoi Nomioi are the gods and spirits of the wild: the countryside, the pastures, the forests. Under their auspices, untamed nature thrives, the beasts of the wild feast and multiply, the mountains reach to the heavens with their stony, snow-capped fingers, and the forests grow thick and dark with mystery.

    The National Parks Conservation Association
    “Since 1919, the National Parks Conservation Association has been the leading voice of the American people in the fight to safeguard the scenic beauty, wildlife, and historic and cultural treasures of the largest and most diverse park system in the world. Help us assure the future of our beloved national parks.”

    The National Park Foundation
    “The National Park Foundation protects America’s special places, connects people to nature and inspires the next generation of park stewards.”

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    Philologus Perfume Oil

    The Philologi are scholars and philosophers that have dedicated themselves to the pursuit of knowledge, utilizing their extended lifespan to further their research. They are usually reclusive, and some were once Transeo that have rejected the bustle of human society in favor of solitude.

    Ancient books, crackled parchment, faded incense, and candle wax.

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    Seven Word Story: Lust Perfume Oil

    Quoth one of the wordiest humans who ever lived: “Brevity is the soul of wit.”

    This spring we challenged friends and fans to answer that call, baring their souls (and more) in our steamy, Lust-themed #BPAL7wordstory contest

    “Seduce us in seven!” we demanded, promising the winning story would be enshrined in a Limited Edition fragrance. The response was overwhelming — and downright filthy. Over eight hundred entries later, Lust found its new champion. The winning story, submitted via Twitter by @GeekDame, took flight in our perfumer’s imagination and resulted in the following myth-tinged tryst.

    Congrats to the winner, and keep your quills sharp! #BPAL7wordstory is only getting started.

    He breathed smoke across her pomegranate-stained lips.

    Chthonic incense and blood-red pomegranate.

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    The Wild Men of Jezirat Al Tennyn Perfume Oil

    You are shocked out of the torch song’s melancholy mood by shrieks, hoots, and yowls. You move to your left, and see that instead of a stage, a gigantic iron cage has been hung, hovering a few feet off of the ground. Elaborate, delicate silver sigils are engraved upon huge iron disks that have been mounted to the sides of the cage, and they flicker and spark whenever one of the wild men touches the iron bars that imprison them. The backdrop depicts a blistering volcanic eruption, spiked with thick luminescent bolts of lightning. Several beings are held within the cage, male and female, spanning every age. They flash their razor-fanged smiles at you malevolently as they anxiously crawl, pace, and stalk the length of their prison, stopping occasionally to pose and preen as they gossip with one another in an unrecognizable guttural, grinding language. Their tattooed skin glows an angry crimson, curving horns protrude from their skulls, and their eyes blaze with unholy light.

    Fiery, primal, and precociously diabolical: red amber, Spanish moss, Indonesian patchouli, ambergris, sweet ambrette seed, red pepper, two cloves, and vanilla flower.

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    Thalassa, The Galapagos Mermaid Perfume Oil

    A massive glass tank is positioned on the stage, decorated with a rough canvas painting of sand and sea. Within the tank, you see a swirl of ivory, coral, and russet. After a few rushed passes, the furiously moving creature slows and makes her way towards the glass. As she approaches, you see that her features are lovely and delicate, and though her pearl-adorned torso is that of a beautiful, slender woman, her bewitching face is crowned by lethal spikes and instead of legs she has a writhing serpentine tail. Upon spotting you, her dorsal spikes flare, and she sneers maliciously. She slaps the face of the tank with her powerful tail, and you hear a crack and groan as the glass fractures under the strain.

    Seaweed, kelp, salty ocean spray, bitter almond, night-blooming jasmine, frankincense, and benzoin.

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    Meskhenet, The Vulture Maiden Perfume Oil

    The ringing of a gong seizes your attention, and you follow the sound to the next stage. It is empty, devoid of any backdrop, and the platform is dark. A haze blankets your vision, like heat radiating off of the desert floor. You hear the sound of hands clapping a steady rhythm, and within moments, the haze begins to coalesce into the forms of a troupe of ghostly women, clad in linen shifts. Their wraithlike hands pluck at the strings of translucent zithers and harps, shake spectral sistrums, and their pallid lips blow upon ethereal flutes. The music that they play is discordant, otherworldly, and seems to be at once a funeral dirge and a paean to life: a triumphant lamentation. As the sound swells, you hear the beating of wings in the distance, and a keen, a siren’s ululation, joins the haunting melody. As the song reaches its eerie crescendo, a beautiful winged woman alights on the stage, summoned by the phantom song. Her skin is dusky brown, and the vigor of her youthful body seems in conflict with the depth of grief reflected in her eyes. Her wings spread out behind her in morbid majesty, and she takes flight. Her dance is, itself, a visible act of mourning, and is almost sensual in its sorrow.

    Frankincense, hyssop, hibiscus, river reeds, orris root, palm frond, and olibanum.

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    Hope & Faith, The Siamese Twins Perfume Oil

    A huge crowd mills in front of the next stage. You hear the din of their voices, chattering in a Babel’s fall of languages, laughing and buzzing with a strange anticipation. As you get closer, you notice that they are wearing a motley mix of clothing from ages past… all rotting, all in shreds. In the sea of faces, all bearing a similar chalky pallor, some stand out: there is a woman in a threadbare Burgundian gown, a young man in torn breeches and sagging slops, a maiden in a dagged-sleeve houppelande that is splattered with cruor, a snarling Victorian rogue with a battered silk top hat, and a vacant-eyed man in a shredded Confederate uniform. As you make your way through the crowd, you feel cold fingers pluck at your clothing, and the hard, almost glassy skin that you brush against radiates an unnatural cold. You hear tittering sighs as you push through the gathering, and your skin prickles as you feel icy breath upon your neck. Abruptly, someone cries out, and the strange congregation begins clapping a steady rhythm. Their voices rise in a tintamar of ghastly cheers as torches flare to life. The firelight illuminates a gargantuan, shining black stake in the center of the stage. It is festooned with black ribbons, drooping moss, and viciously-colored poisonous blooms in a playful, grotesque mockery of a Maypole. Two women, clutched tightly in a brutal embrace, spin onto the stage, shaking a tambourine and clacking a hembra in time with the clapping. One is clad in violet, with violet tresses to match; the other is a vision of swirling rose. Their long, waving hair whips in manic arcs as they twirl, stomp, and pirouette around the onyx shaft. The crowd becomes more and more frenzied as the dance reaches a mad crescendo, and suddenly you realize that the two are one: they are conjoined, identical twins, bound eternally at the ribs. The violet sister, caught in the throes of the ritual’s passion, throws her head back and moans. She bares a set of gleaming white fangs and bites deeply into her sister’s neck. The rose maiden screams in joy, and returns her sister’s violent kiss as the crowd explodes into Corybantic mayhem.

    Simplicity and innocence, gleefully despoiled! Hope is sugared rose, Faith is sugared violet. The sisters are inseparable, and may only be purchased together. Presented in a velveteen pouch. $48.00.

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    Green Tree Viper Perfume Oil

    Snake Oil with four mints, bergamot, and green tea.

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    Boomslang Perfume Oil

    Snake Oil with cocoa, teakwood, and rice milk.

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    Eshe, A Vision of Life-In-Death Perfume Oil

    Moving counter-clockwise through the room, you come upon the next stage. The backdrop is shredded, and seems to have been torn in a fury. On the remaining half of the canvas, you can barely make out a faded illustration of the sun setting over a pyramid. On the center of the platform, an elaborate golden sarcophagus has been set upright and propped up towards the edge of the stage. Beside it, upon the ground, sits a hooded lantern. A woman’s image is painted on the front of the sarcophagus, and upon the gold limned body, a tale is being told in hieroglyphics: scenes of murder, carnage, and grotesque, mad passion. Although you do not know the language, the inscription upon the tomb translates within your mind, and the words burn behind your eyes as if they were written in blood and fire: “The Guardian will never part the veil for her soul. Mighty Sutekh, have pity on us all.” A thin, dark-skinned man wearing a linen loincloth climbs onto the stage. His form is frail and withered, he is impossibly old, yet his long, straight hair is as black as the night skies. With solemn, reverential gravity, he slowly moves the casket lid aside. Within the box, you see a skeletal figure wrapped in stained, ragged cloths, draped in a mauve cloth. The dark-skinned man bends low, and lights the lanterna magica. From within the glass, images begin to form, and glowing alchemical symbols cast their eerie light onto the mummy. As the lights touch the creature, the desiccated body swells, and with horrific, agonizing slowness, a woman’s form begins to appear within the wrappings. At her chest, the rotted wrappings burst, exposing sinew and the glinting white bones of her ribs. Her hands reach towards her face, and with a screech of agony and eons-long rage, she tears the gauze from her glittering black eyes.

    The perfume of life-in-death: embalming herbs, black myrrh, white sandalwood, black orchid, paperwhites, olive blossom, tomb dust, and Moroccan jasmine.

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    Theodosius, the Legerdemain Perfume Oil

    A flash of light and the smell of sulfur seize your attention. A vast black tent stands before you, subtly glowing with an unnatural, almost phosphorescent light. This tent has no pennants, no ornamentation, save for a carved ebony sign, lettered in silver:

    “Master Theodosius
    Legerdemain, Medium, Conjurer
    One thousand years of marvels.
    Enter at your peril.”

    Another flash blinds you, and from a swirl of smoke a rakish, devilishly handsome man appears, long black hair falling down halfway to his waist, elegant and sinister in an inky silk tuxedo and a voluminous cape. The shadow he casts against the tent, oddly, seems to be that of an enormous corvus, and his eyes radiate a deep azure light. Staring fixedly at you, he snaps his fingers, and two bolts of violet lightning strike the ground on either side of him, blinding you momentarily. As your eyes adjust, you see that two lovely, slender, waiflike women now stand upon the scarred ground beside him, dressed in tattered ballerina costumes the nebulous color of smoke. Turning to his right, he touches the woman’s lips and says, “Seachd seachd uair!” She opens her mouth, and a flock of diminutive bats fly forth from her throat. Turning to his left, he touches the other woman’s hair and repeats, “Seachd seachd uair!” What once was a gleaming mane of stark white hair is now a nest of writhing vipers. She opens her mouth, baring fangs, and spits forth a thin stream of venom. The Master swirls his cape, which suddenly seems to grow and twist like a living shadow, and in a final flash of red lightning and a deafening thunderclap, he and both his assistants vanish.

    Earl Grey tea leaves, a white fougere, jasmine leaf, pearlescent white musk, and vanilla bean.

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    Iulia, L’Artiste du Diable Perfume Oil

    A chittering buzz rises from a small crowd that has gathered around an opulent velvet-draped tent. Some are fidgeting impatiently; others try in vain to peep within the tent. Within moments, a slim, stunningly handsome man emerges from the entryway to the sound of gasps and scattered applause. His face is lit with fierce joy, and he bows almost smugly to the assemblage. Grabbing a flirtatious blonde from the mob, he kisses her in a rush of mad passion, his arm encircles her waist, and he leads her directly to a nearby opium den. The crowd disperses, and curiosity pulls you forward. You push open the fringed, beaded tent-flap and enter the dimly-lit room. A lovely, voluptuous redhead stands before an ornate antique easel. Her luminous alabaster skin and the phosphorescence emanating from her paintbrush seem to be the only source of light. As you adjust to the gloom, you see that the walls are covered with atrocities: an exhibit of dissolution. The myriad canvases show men and women in various stages of rot and decay, a panoply of indulgence, teeth set in fury, mouths leering in lust, hands grasping greedily.

    The scarlet woman turns her gleaming sightless eyes towards you and, in a husky, compelling voice, she speaks:

    “Why let the years tear at your youthful splendor? Why let the mark of your sins stain your fine features? Will you let the cold, creeping grasp of time and the toil of temptation mar your visage? Why should the pleasures of our flesh wreak such havoc?”

    She leans in close to you and whispers, “Let me capture your soul on this canvas in oil and blood, and you will be beautiful forever.”

    White tea, sugar cane, orange blossom, rockrose, lemon balm, white mint, and honey.

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    Xanthe, the Weeping Clown Perfume Oil

    From the corner of your eye, you see what seems to be a swirl of pale, translucent spirits. Ghostly in form, their faces are masks of pain and fury. Their insubstantial bodies churn and roil around a hissing, wailing clown. Her greasepaint is smeared with tears, and her fanged crimson mouth is turned down in a vicious scowl while blood drips from her lips. Her costume is torn and threadbare, and a steel-bright glint around her waist draws your eyes to an arsenal of razors, knives, and cleavers hanging from her belt. She swats futilely at the spirits as she shoves and scratches her way through the crowd.

    Guava, orange peel, white pepper, spun sugar and apple blossom.

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    Pulcinella & Teresina Perfume Oil

    Your eyes are drawn to a gilded miniature stage whose sign reads: “All Praises to the Lord of Misrule!” Upon the platform, a sneering wooden jester waltzes with a hollow-eyed and bleeding wooden maiden, while a wooden devil floats above them.

    Labdanum, cedar, teak and red rose.

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    Pure Applesauce Perfume Oil

    King vs Burwell

    The Court claims that the Act must equate federal and state establishment of Exchanges when it defines a qualified individual as someone who (among other things) lives in the “State that established the Exchange,” 42 U.S.C. 18032(f)(1)(A). Otherwise, the Court says, there would be no qualified individuals on federal Exchanges, contradicting (for example) the provision requiring every Exchange to take the ” ‘interests of qualified individuals’ ” into accountwhen selecting health plans. Ante, at 11 (quoting 18031(e)(1)(b)). Pure applesauce.

    Our applesauce is decidedly impure: mashed apples with sugar and honey, slivered with tobacco tar and black tea.

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    Scholar’s Tower Perfume Oil

    “Amina and Shula took in stray books and stray cats and filled their home with both. They loved their feline charges as much as their studies, though the former often demanded more attention than the latter.

    Together, the two scholars charted the paths of comets, discovered and named new stars, and debated the size and shape of the observable skies. They loved their study of the heavens, but they also strove to keep their inner world full and happy. Some days, all they needed was a sunny spot in their tower to enjoy a few books and a pot of tea together with their horde of cats.”

    Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab has created SCHOLARS’ TOWER to commemorate “Imagined Realms”, the first in a series of books of fantasy art by award winning artist Julie Dillon.

    Gleaming amber spheres, polished cedar and mahogany, sweet parchment, inks of frankincense ash, and soft plumes of incense.

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    Our Hearts Condemn Us Perfume Oil

    Keralan teakwood, Bulgarian rose otto, Himalayan cedar, and oudh.

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    Quintessence of Dust Perfume Oil

    “What a piece of work is a man!”
    “What is this quintessence of dust?”

    The passing: beeswax and smoke, yellowed paper and well-worn leather books, droplets of spilled ink, faded incense, blood-tinged salty tears, and the metal of the knife that skewers that illiterate zombie philistine’s portrait.

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    Imp Pack: Men’s Perfume Oil

    The Antikythera Mechanism
    Teakwood, oak, black vanilla, and tobacco.

    The Black Rider
    Black leather, oppoponax, tobacco, and black amber.

    Cthulhu
    A creeping, wet, slithering scent, dripping with seaweed, oceanic plants and dark, unfathomable waters.

    Dee
    English leather, rosewood and tonka with a hint of incense, parchment and soft woods.

    Iago
    Malevolent, dark and shadowy: sinuous black musk, wet leather and vetiver.

    Vicomte de Valmont
    I promised her my eternal love, and I actually thought that for a couple of hours.

    Rake, scoundrel, demon in a frock coat. Devilishly seductive, ultimately tragic; a villain undone and redeemed by love. Based on an 18th century gentlemen’s cologne: ambergris, white musk, white sandalwood, Spanish Moss, orange blossom, three mints, jasmine, rose geranium and a spike of rosemary.

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    The Day Burned White Perfume Oil

    Using the door, which was centrally placed in the wall like a mouth, the artists had sprayed a single, vast head onto the stripped plaster. The painting was more adroit than most she had seen, rife with detail that lent the image an unsettling veracity. The cheekbones jutting through skin the color of buttermilk; the teeth, sharpened to irregular points, all converging on the door. The sitter’s eyes were, owing to the room’s low ceiling, set mere inches above the upper lip, but this physical adjustment only lent force to the image, giving the impression that he had thrown his head back. Knotted strands of his hair snaked from his scalp across the ceiling. Was it a portrait? There was something naggingly specific in the details of the brows and the lines around the wide mouth; in the careful picturing of those vicious teeth. A nightmare certainly: a facsimile, perhaps, of something from a heroin fugue. Whatever its origins, it was potent. Even the illusion of door-as-mouth worked. The short passageway between living room and bedroom offered a passable throat, with a tattered lamp in lieu of tonsils. Beyond the gullet, the day burned white in the nightmare’s belly. The whole effect brought to mind a ghost train painting. The same heroic deformity, the same unashamed intention to scare. And it worked; she stood in the bedroom almost stupefied by the picture, its red-rimmed eyes fixing her mercilessly.

    Plaster and spraypaint, mottled with buttermilk – sweet, chalky, and edging on sickly. White and golden amber beams of daylight pour through the belly of the scent, while oakmoss and Spanish moss add a touch of decay.

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    Sweets to the Sweet Perfume Oil

    One sight did catch her attention however. Scrawled on the paving stones she was walking over—and all but erased by rain and the passage of feet—the same phrase she'd seen in the bedroom of number 14: “Sweets to the sweet.” The words were so benign; why did she seem to sense menace in them? Was it in their excess, perhaps, in the sheer overabundance of sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey?

    Sugar upon sugar, honey upon honey: white cane sugar and honey absolute.

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    Foolish and Vacuous Perfume Oil

    She was glad to see the back of him. When he failed to return that night she didn't even think of weeping about it. He was foolish and vacuous. She despaired of ever seeing a haunted look in his dull eyes; and what worth was a man who could not be haunted?

    A scent with no depth: a light, reedy, almost vapid take on a classic men’s fougere.

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  • Marie Perfume Oil

    A blend of sinuous violet and elegant tea rose: the chosen scent of France’s Demigoddess of Debauch: Marie Antoinette.

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    Alice

    Curiouser and curiouser. Milk and honey with rose, carnation and bergamot.

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    ‘Tis the Voice of the Lobster Perfume Oil

    ‘Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
    ‘You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.’
    As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
    Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
    When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
    And will talk in contemptuous tones of the shark;
    But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
    His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.

    I passed by his garden and marked, with one eye,
    How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie:
    The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
    While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.
    When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
    Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
    While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
    And concluded the banquet by —

    A woody, musky-weird base glooping over with blackberry preserves, a twist of mandarin, strawberry juice, pulverized watermelon, and a handful of smushed gardenia petals.

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    Against Idleness and Mischief Perfume Oil

    How doth the little busy bee
    Improve each shining hour
    And gather honey all the day
    From every opening flower!

    How skilfully she builds her cell!
    How neat she spreads the wax!
    And labours hard to store it well
    With the sweet food she makes.

    In works of labour or of skill,
    I would be busy too;
    For Satan finds some mischief still
    For idle hands to do.

    In books, or work, or healthful play,
    Let my first years be passed,
    That I may give for every day
    Some good account at last.

    Pollen-dusted honey, diligent tonka, steadfast chamomile, and goodly hyssop.

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    Interfector Perfume Oil

    There are two types of vampires that humans, and often other vampires, need to be wary of: the Interfectors and the Tombeur. The Interfectors are ruthless killers, ultimate hunters who view humans as livestock. They are brutal, but not necessarily cruel, and rarely toy with their prey. Universally, Interfectors perceive their transition into the vampiric state to be an initiation into a higher state of being, not transcendent or spiritual in nature, but rather a promotion to the top of the food chain.

    Ruthless, unfeeling, and inhumanly violent: tobacco, sharp woods, frankincense, and bunn.

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    skekUng the Garthim Master Perfume Oil

    Strongest of all for brute force – after the Emperor – was skekUng the Garthim Master. Torment was his pleasure, though his urSkeks originally had been a healer and continued so in his urRu form. Hidden in that tall, shining urSkek was one who, ages later, could find pleasure in tearing apart the gentle Gelfling. The urSkeks knew this evil was in them and tried hard to burn it out.

    Brute force and destruction: vetiver, smoke, steel, and dragon’s blood resin.

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    Sanctus Perfume Oil

    The Sanctus are considered by some pious vampires to be the saints of their kind, and from what we have gleaned, they are very likely the stuff of myth. These vampires are paragons that possess impossible, phenomenal powers that defy known physics, including the ability to shift shape, turn into a gaseous form, and command other vampires through will alone. The mythological Sanctus are venerated by some, but we have no evidence whatsoever that they truly exist.

    Diabolically otherworldly: golden osmanthus, lily of the valley, celestial musk, and frankincense.

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    Vespillo Perfume Oil

    The Vespillo are dedicated to assisting newly infected vampires in understanding and accepting their condition and learning to live with the challenges that vampires face. Vespillo, like the Transeo, tend to become members of vampire-acceptance movements, pushing for a wider understanding of vampires among the human population.

    A grounded, earthy scent, evocative of the soul’s finer qualities: patchouli, clove, neroli, night-blooming jasmine, sage, and iris.

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    Misericordia Perfume Oil

    The Misericordia, or Tristis, are vampires that are consumed with a longing to regain their lost humanity, some to the point of being driven mad by the desire to be human once more. The shock of their transition into vampirism and the rejection they faced from friends and loved ones was devastating, and it compromises their ability to find solace and comfort. Unlike the Transeo, Misericordia cannot merge into human society, but are relegated by their own grief to the position of outsiders. Their inherent melancholy and morose temperaments make it difficult for them to cultivate relationships with either humans or vampires. Most vampires treat the Misericordia with a fair amount of derision, and they are sometimes hunted by Interfectors who see the perspective of the Misericordia as an affront to their way of thinking.

    Eons of grief and unending hunger: magnolia, black currant, castoreum accord, lavender, labdanum, amber, rose otto, and opoponax.

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    Transeo Perfume Oil

    The Transeo are vampires that have assimilated into human society, often reaching positions of power. Among the Transeo there are many celebrated politicians, scientists, businessmen, philosophers, artists, writers, and musicians, and, surprisingly, a large number of influential clergy and militarists. Not every Transeo is an illustrious public figure; many simply desire the comforts associated with reentering society. In the past, most Transeo posed as humans as best they could, concealing their true natures. In the twenty-first century, more and more Transeo are coming out in the open, and they form the backbone of most vampire-acceptance movements.

    GA cologne that (almost) blends well into human society: benzoin, orange blossom, cumin, King mandarin, gaiac wood, juniper berry, Calabrian bergamot, Ceylon cinnamon, and blood camouflaged by wine.

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    Tombeur Perfume Oil

    There are two types of vampires that humans, and often other vampires, need to be wary of: the Interfectors and the Tombeur.

    The Tombeur, are much more complex in their hunting habits and their perceptions than their Interfector cousins. Like the Interfectors, they perceive their vampirism to be an initiation into a higher state of being and relegate humans to base foodstuffs. Unlike the Interfectors, however, the Tombeur are not straightforward predators, and there is a secondary purpose to their hunt: sexual gratification. They take full advantage of their saliva’s hypnotic and psychotropic effects on humans, the mystique that surrounds vampires, the seemingly unnatural attraction some humans have toward vampires, and the potency of the Tombeurs’ own sexual drive to lure humans into complex carnal relationships that culminate in feeding. They are consummate seducers, and some Tombeur feed, completely and terminally, on their conquests, while others create henchmen that are little more than sex slaves. Neither fate is something we would recommend to any of our readers.

    Deadly and seductive: vanilla-infused sandalwood, blood musk, antique patchouli, vetiver, lavender, bitter almond, amber, and a trickle of Snake Oil.

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    Silenti Perfume Oil

    The Silenti reject human society completely, and are, quite literally, the living dead. Either due to trauma, sociopathic psychological conditions they possessed while human, or through a desire to embrace this peculiar aesthetic, they adopt many of the stereotypes and trappings of the vampire-as-undead. Some act as monstrous killers, akin to the murderous ways of Interfectors, while others are more peaceable, but no less strange. Most of these vampires choose to live in crypts, haunting graveyards like proverbial ghouls. Many vampire death cults have sprung from the philosophies and writings of Silenti, including the House of Azrael, whose members venerate death itself as the supreme deity and oblivion as heaven.

    Grave beauty: Spanish moss, lilac, wisteria, myrrh, and olibanum.

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    Cicuta Perfume Oil

    The Cicuta, also called the Rictus, are least likely to be accepted by human society, and are, sadly, also the least likely to be accepted by other vampires in general. Some vampires have a peculiar adverse reaction to the transference of the vampiric pathogen whereby their physical appearance is drastically altered: They lose their hair, their features become elongated, their eyes protrude, and a permanent and irreversible inflammation of their joints causes stiff movement and a clawlike rigidity in the hands and feet. Cicuta minds function as any other vampire’s, but their appearance is so startlingly different that they find it almost impossible to find any acceptance whatsoever among humans or vampires. Usually these afflicted vampires choose to live in isolation, either on secluded estates or literally underground. Occasionally, small groups of Cicutas can be found cohabitating, finding comfort and companionship with those that share their condition. The Cicuta were parodied somewhat in F. W. Murnau’s 1922 film Nosferatu.

    Dry, dusty rose petals, candle smoke, frankincense, and saffron.

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    Imp Pack: Woody Perfume Oil

    Antikythera Mechanism
    Teakwood, oak, black vanilla, and tobacco.

    Azathoth
    Tangerine, saffron, vetiver, black amber and cedarwood.

    The Forest Reverie
    A sunlit ancient forest, dotted with wild roses, grape vine, and queenly lilies, clothed in swirls of opium smoke.

    Incantation
    A profound and entrancing potion. Deep, wispy, and unfathomably dark: vetiver, dark woods, crumbling and burnt black sandalwood and a drop of lemon rind.

    Ranger
    Untamed wilderness: buckskin accord with Terebinth, Russian birch, black ironwood, elder bark, hay, armoise, juniper, patchouli, galangal root, Spanish moss, and cabreuva.

    Yggdrasil
    Nine woods, nine leaves, and three herbs each for Ratatosk and Vidofnir, with three final herbs to placate Nidhogg.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Vanilla Perfume Oil

    Eat Me
    Three white cakes, vanilla, and red and black currants.

    Light of Men’s Lives
    The wax and smoke of millions upon millions of candles illuminating the walls of Death’s shadowy cave: some tall, straight, and strong, blazing with the fire of life, others dim and guttering.

    Lyonesse
    Golden vanilla and gilded musk, stargazer lily, white sandalwood, grey amber, elemi, orris root, ambergris and sea moss.

    Mouse’s Long and Sad Tale
    Vanilla, two ambers, sweet pea and white sandalwood.

    Good
    Shimmering celestial musk with vanilla, white honey, acacia, and sugar cane.

    Snake Oil
    Deep, rich earthy notes swirled with vegetal musks, sugared vanilla bean, and dark spices.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Spice Perfume Oil

    Al Shairan
    Clove, peach and orange with cinnamon, patchouli and dark incense notes.

    Chimera
    The fiery, volatile scent of cinnamon, thickened by myrrh, honeysuckle, and copal.

    Evil
    Smouldering opium tar, tobacco absolute, green tea, black plum, kush, ambergris accord, ambrette seed, and costus root.

    Gnome
    An explosive blend of effervescent golden ginger and black peppercorn with sarsaparilla, gurjum balsam, nutmeg, gear lubricant, and smoke.

    Inferno
    The Dark Side of Fire: cinnamon, bitter almond, and neroli. Heavily spiced, torrid, and possibly conflagrant.

    Old Demons of the First Class
    Siberian musk, black clove, opoponax, tonka, black pepper, and neroli.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Patchouli Perfume Oil

    Anne Bonny
    A blend of Indonesian red patchouli, red sandalwood, and frankincense.

    The Coiled Serpent
    A potent yogic oil that stimulates the kundalini, provokes spiritual awakening, and releases the energy seated in your root chakra.

    Imp
    White peach, amber, golden musk and patchouli.

    Namaste
    Sandalwood, jasmine, rose, patchouli, cedarwood and lemongrass.

    The Obsidian Widow
    Pinot noir, dark myrrh, red sandalwood, black patchouli, night-blooming jasmine, and attar of rose.

    Sin
    Amber, sandalwood, black patchouli and cinnamon.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Moss Perfume Oil

    Baba Yaga
    Spell-soaked herbs and flowers, cold iron, broom twigs, bundles of moss and patchouli root, and moth dust.

    Bayou
    Spanish moss, evergreen and cypress with watery blue-green notes and an eddy of hothouse flowers and swamp blooms.

    Bruised Violet Compound
    Crushed violets, red currant, patchouli root and spanish moss.

    Caterpillar
    Heavy incense notes waft lazily through a mix of carnation, jasmine, bergamot, and neroli over a lush bed of dark mosses, iris blossom, deep patchouli and indolent vetiver.

    Fae
    A brilliant, ethereal scent: white musk, bergamot, heliotrope, peach and oakmoss.

    Jazz Funeral
    Bittersweet bay rum, bourbon, and a host of funeral flowers with a touch of graveyard dirt, magnolia and Spanish Moss.

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    Imp Pack: Incense Perfume Oil

    Cairo
    The essence of holy Kyphi, beloved incense of the Egyptian Gods.

    The Caterpillar
    Heavy incense notes waft lazily through a mix of carnation, jasmine, bergamot, and neroli over a lush bed of dark mosses, iris blossom, deep patchouli and indolent vetiver.

    Cathedral
    A true ecclesiatical blend of pure resins.

    Druid
    Ancient trees, fertile soil, wild herbs, spring grasses, and burgundy pitch incense.

    Hellfire
    A swirl of pipe tobacco, hot leather, ambergris, dark musk and the lingering incense smoke from their Black Mass.

    Penitence
    A blend of pure, pious frankincense and graceful myrrh.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Herbal Perfume Oil

    Baba Yaga
    Spell-soaked herbs and flowers, cold iron, broom twigs, bundles of moss and patchouli root, and moth dust.

    Apothecary
    Tea leaf with three mosses, green grass, a medley of herbal notes, and a drop of ginger and fig.

    The Dormouse
    A dizzying eddy of four teas brushed with light herbs and a breath of peony.

    Druid
    Ancient trees, fertile soil, wild herbs, spring grasses, and burgundy pitch incense.

    Leanan Sidhe
    Her perfume is a crush of Irish herbs and flowers, Gaelic mists, and nighttime dew.

    Nosferatu
    Desiccated herbs and gritty earth brought to life with a swell of robust and sanguineous red wines.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Green Perfume Oil

    The Apothecary
    Tea leaf with three mosses, green grass, a medley of herbal notes, and a drop of ginger and fig.

    Ranger
    Untamed wilderness: buckskin accord with Terebinth pine, Russian birch, black ironwood, elder bark, hay, armoise, juniper, patchouli, galangal root, Spanish moss, and cabreuva.

    Druid
    Ancient trees, fertile soil, wild herbs, spring grasses, and burgundy pitch incense.

    Envy
    Green herbs slithering through mint, lime and lavender.

    Strangler Fig
    Rooty, woody, with deep green tones.

    Squirting Cucumber
    A spurt of wet, grassy greenness.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Gourmand Perfume Oil

    Bliss
    A shot of pure, self-indulgent euphoria! A scent that is very, very wicked in its own way: the serotonin-slathered scent of pure milk chocolate.

    Blood Kiss
    Lush, creamy vanilla and the honey of the sweetest kiss smeared with the vital throb of husky clove, swollen red cherries, but darkened with the vampiric sensuality of vetiver, soporific poppy and blood red wine, and a skin-light pulse of feral musk.

    Cockaigne
    Milk and honey, sweet cakes and wine.

    Knave of Hearts
    Crushed roses and blackcurrant tarts.

    Miskatonic University
    The scent of Irish coffee, dusty tomes and polished oakwood halls.

    Velvet
    Envelop yourself in the soft, sensual embrace of gentle sandalwood warmed by cocoa vanilla and a veil of deep myrrh.

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    Imp Pack: Fruit Perfume Oil

    Cheshire Cat
    Grapefruit, red currant, dark musk, Roman chamomile, delphinium, and lavender.

    Croquet
    Pink lime, pink grapefruit, white nectarine, wild rose, sage, woody patchouli, bergamot, and ornery hedgehog musk.

    Lady Macbeth
    The essence of ambition, covetousness and manipulation: sweet Bordeaux wine, blood red currant, thyme and wild berries.

    Persephone
    Pomegranate and rose.

    Poisoned Apple
    A perfect, lovely, gleaming red apple whose sweetness masks a swirl of narcotic opium, oleander, and hemlock.

    Yemaya
    Melons and grapes, strewn with the petals of the flowers of motherhood, draped with sea mosses.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Fresh Perfume Oil

    Dirty
    A fresh, crisp white linen scent: perfectly clean, perfectly breezy.

    Elf
    Pale golden musk, honeycomb, amber, parma violet, hawthorne bark, aspen leaf, forest lily, life everlasting, white moss, and a hint of wild berry.

    Kumiho
    A sharp, biting blend of crisp white tea and ginger.

    Manhattan
    A meeting of modern, sleek elegance and rich, passionate history: sheer amber, black leather, white mint, lemon peel, white tea, grapefruit, kush, teakwood and orchid.

    Neutral
    A flawless skin musk.

    Qandisa
    Black musk, blackened saffron, lemon peel, and vetiver draped over thick honey.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Fougère Perfume Oil

    Oberon
    Orchid, white musk, and bergamot wafting over juniper berries, with a gentle touch of soft, earthy patchouli.

    The Scales of Deprivation
    Thin, dark, and shadowed. A scent that offers no sustenance, comfort or satiety: lemon peel, white sage, frankincense, lavender fougere, sandalwood, vetiver and labdanum

    Sherlock Holmes
    A fastidiously clean scent, with a dash of pipe and cigarette tobacco. Faintly beneath, you catch the fragrance of a smear of greasepaint, a stray horsehair, and a whisper of Moroccan leather and rosin.

    Vicomte de Valmont
    Based on an 18th century gentlemen’s cologne: ambergris, white musk, white sandalwood, Spanish Moss, orange blossom, three mints, jasmine, rose geranium and a spike of rosemary.

    Famine
    Sleek black tea, tobacco leaf, frankincense, lilac, and white musk.

    Whitechapel
    White musk, lime, lilac and citron.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Soft Floral Perfume Oil

    Ave Maria Gratia Plena
    Rosewood with Sicilian lemon peel, red Mysore sandalwood, pale musks, sweet mountain sage and a dusting of lily, night-blooming jasmine and orris.

    Lucy’s Kiss
    The gentle scent of rose and a blend of Victorian spices

    Delight
    Frangipani, with rose, tuberose, and jasmine.

    Maiden
    White tea, carnation and Damask Rose.

    Vasilissa
    Creamy skin musk and blushing pink musk with soft sandalwood, white amber, dutiful myrrh, and star jasmine.

    Nocturne
    Deepest violet touched with lilac and tuberose.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Citrus Perfume Oil

    Aelopile
    Glowing amber and citrus, labdanum, verbena, cedar, and oud.

    Baobhan Sith
    Grapefruit, white tea, apple blossom and ginger.

    Carnal
    Bold, bright mandarin paired with the sweet, sensual earthiness of fig.

    Cheshire Cat
    Grapefruit, red currant, dark musk, Roman chamomile, delphinium, and lavender.

    Katharina
    A strong, willful blend with a soft, utterly lovely soul: white musk with a trickle of bright, sharp apricot and orange blossom.

    Xiuhtecuhtli
    Copal, plumeria and sweet orange and the smoke of South American incense and crushed jungle blooms.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Amber Perfume Oil

    Bastet
    Luxuriant amber, warm Egyptian musk, fierce saffron and soft myrrh, almond, cardamom and golden lotus.

    Brisingamen
    A glittering mantle of rich golden notes: five ambers, soft myrtle, apple blossom and carnation.

    Haunted
    Soft golden amber darkened with a touch of murky black musk.

    Mouse’s Long and Sad Tale
    Vanilla, two ambers, sweet pea and white sandalwood.

    The Little Wooden Doll
    Rose-infused amber and soft golden sandalwood.

    Tamora
    Amber, heliotrope, golden sandalwood, peach blossom and vanilla bean.

    Out of Stock
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    Imp Pack: Most Beloved Perfume Oil

    Alice
    Milk and honey with rose, carnation and bergamot.

    Bastet
    Luxuriant amber, warm Egyptian musk, fierce saffron and soft myrrh, almond, cardamom and golden lotus.

    Blood Kiss
    Lush, creamy vanilla and the honey of the sweetest kiss smeared with the vital throb of husky clove, swollen red cherries, but darkened with the vampiric sensuality of vetiver, soporific poppy and blood red wine, and a skin-light pulse of feral musk.

    Kyoto
    A gentle, soothing blend of cherry blossom, white sandalwood and star anise.

    Morocco
    Arabian spices wind through a blend of warm musk, carnation, red sandalwood and cassia.

    White Rabbit
    Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen.

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    Lemon-Scented Sticky Bat Perfume Oil

    …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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    Victoria Perfume Oil

    Every boy in the village was in love with Victoria Forester. And many a sedate gentleman, quietly married with grey in his beard, would stare at her as she walked down the street, becoming, for a few moments, a boy once more, in the spring of his years with a spring in his step.

    Graceful vanilla musk, tea rose, and stargazer lily.

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    Tristran Perfume Oil

    Tristran put down his wooden cup of tea, and stood up, offended.

    “What,” he asked, in what he was certain were lofty and scornful tones, “would possibly make you imagine that my lady-love would have sent me on some foolish errand?”

    The little man stared up at him with eyes like beads of jet. “Because that’s the only reason a lad like you would be stupid enough to cross the border into Faerie. The only ones who ever come here from your lands are the minstrels, and the lovers, and the mad. And you don’t look like much of a minstrel, and you’re – pardon me saying so, lad, but it’s true – ordinary as cheese-crumbs. So it’s love, if you ask me.”

    “Because,” announces Tristran, “every lover is in his heart a madman, and in his head a minstrel.”

    Dust on your trousers, mud on your boots, and stars in your eyes: redwood, tonka bean, white sandalwood, lemon peel, patchouli, rosewood, coriander, and crushed mint.

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    Lady Una Perfume Oil

    “Why, you are crying.”

    She said nothing. Dunstan pulled her toward him, wiping ineffectually at her face with his big hand; and then he leaned into her sobbing face, and, tentatively, uncertain of whether or not he was doing the correct thing given the circumstances, he kissed her, full upon the burning lips.

    There was a moment of hesitation, and then her mouth opened against his, and her tongue slid into his mouth, and he was, under the strange stars, utterly, irrevocably, lost.

    Honey musk, green tea leaf, blackberry leaf, vanilla bean, and fae spices.

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    The East Perfume Oil

    But there were times when the wind blew from beyond the wall, bringing with it the smell of mint and thyme and redcurrants, and at those times there were strange colors seen in the flames in the fireplaces in the village.

    The scent of the winds beyond the wall: bluebonnet, passion flower, freesia, jasmine tea, mint, thyme, and redcurrant.

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    The Potter’s Field Perfume Oil

    Silas walked across the path without disturbing a fallen leaf, and sat down on the bench, beside Bod. “There are those,” he said, in his silken voice, “who believe that all land is sacred. That it is sacred before we come to it, and sacred after. But here, in your land, they blessed the churches and the ground they set aside to bury people in, to make it holy. But they left land unconsecrated beside the sacred ground, potter’s fields to bury the criminals and the suicides or those who were not of the faith.”

    “So the people buried in the ground on the other side of the fence are bad people?”

    Silas raised one perfect eyebrow. “Mm? Oh, not at all. Let’s see, it’s been a while since I’ve been down that way. But I don’t remember anyone particularly evil. Remember, in days gone by you could be hanged for stealing a shilling. And there are always people who find their lives have become so unsupportable they believe the best thing they could do would be to hasten their transition to another plane of existence.”

    Rich loam, fragrant grasses, murky vetiver, wild herbs, and dry cedar bark.

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    Shadwell Perfume Oil

    Shadwell had turned out to be about five feet high and wore clothes which, no matter what they actually were, always turned up in your short-term memory as an old mackintosh. The old man may have all his own teeth, but only because no-one else could possibly have wanted them; just one of them, placed under the pillow, would have made the Tooth Fairy hand in its wand.

    He appeared to live entirely on sweet tea, condensed milk, hand-rolled cigarettes, and a sort of sullen internal energy. Shadwell had a Cause, while he followed with the full resources of his soul and his Pensioner’s Concessionary Travel Pass. He believed in it. It powered him like a turbine.

    Roll-ups, mildewed raincoat, sweet tea, and condensed milk.

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    Madame Tracy Perfume Oil

    Newt had been amazed to find that Madam Tracy was a middle-aged, motherly soul, whose gentleman callers called as much for a cup of tea and a nice chat as for what little discipline she was still able to exact.

    A coquettish blend of tea rose, ume blossom, geranium, lily of the valley, violet, and heliotrope.

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    Famine Perfume Oil

    It was not surprising that she had recognized him, for his dark grey eyes stared out from his photo on the foil-embossed cover. Foodless Dieting: Slim Yourself Beautiful, the book was called; The Diet Book of the Century!

    Sleek black tea, tobacco leaf, frankincense, lilac, and white musk.

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    The Buggre Alle This Bible Perfume Oil

    The book was commonly known as the Buggre Alle This Bible. The lengthy compositor’s error, if such it may be called, occurs in the book of Ezekiel, chapter 48, verse five:

    2. And bye the border of Dan, fromme the east side to the west side, a portion for Afher.
    3. And bye the border of Afhter, fromme the east side even untoe the west side, a portion for Naphtali.
    4. And bye the border of Naphtali, from the east side untoe the west side, a portion for Manaffeh.
    5. Buggre all this for a Larke. I amme sick to mye Hart of typefettinge. Master Biltonn if no Gentelmann, and Master Scagges noe more than a tighte fisted Southwarke Knobbefticke. I telle you, onne a daye laike thif Ennywone half an oz. of Sense should bee oute in the Sunneshain, ane nott Stucke here alle the liuelong daie inn thif mowldey olde By-Our-Lady Workefhoppe.
    6 And bye the border of Ephraim, from the east fide even untoe the west fide, a portion for Reuben.

    [The Buggre Alle This Bible was also noteworthy for having twenty seven verses in the third chapter of Genesis, instead of the more usual twenty four.

    They followed verse 24, which in the King James version reads:

    “So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life,” and read:

    25 And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying Where is the flaming sword which was given unto thee?
    26 And the Angel said, I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.
    27 And the Lord did not ask him again.

    It appears that these verses were inserted during the proof stage. In those days it was common practice for printers to hang proof sheets to the wooden beams outside their shops, for the edification of the populace and some free proofreading, and since the whole print run was subsequently burned anyway, no one bothered to take up this matter with the nice Mr. A. Ziraphale, who ran the bookshop two doors along and was always so helpful with the translations, and whose handwriting was instantly recognizable.]

    Crumbling paper and ancient cracked leather with a touch of tobacco leaf and incense.

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    Miss Forcible Perfume Oil

    Miss Spink and Miss Forcible lived in the flat below Coraline’s, on the ground floor. They were both old and round, and they lived in their flat with a number of ageing Highland terriers who had names like Hamish and Andrew and Jock. Once upon a time Miss Spink and Miss Forcible had been actresses, as Miss Spink told Coraline the first time she met her.

    “You see, Caroline,” Miss Spink said, getting Coraline’s name wrong, “both myself and Miss Forcible were famous actresses, in our time. We trod the boards, luvvy. Oh, don’t let Hamish eat the fruitcake, or he’ll be up all night with his tummy.”

    A classic vintage musk.

    Both Miss Spink and Miss Forcible scents have a bit of tea splash and biscuit crumbs.

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    Miss Spink Perfume Oil

    Miss Spink and Miss Forcible lived in the flat below Coraline’s, on the ground floor. They were both old and round, and they lived in their flat with a number of ageing Highland terriers who had names like Hamish and Andrew and Jock. Once upon a time Miss Spink and Miss Forcible had been actresses, as Miss Spink told Coraline the first time she met her.

    “You see, Caroline,” Miss Spink said, getting Coraline’s name wrong, “both myself and Miss Forcible were famous actresses, in our time. We trod the boards, luvvy. Oh, don’t let Hamish eat the fruitcake, or he’ll be up all night with his tummy.”

    “It’s Coraline. Not Caroline, Coraline,” said Coraline.

    A grand, over-the-top tuberose gardenia.

    Both Miss Spink and Miss Forcible scents have a bit of tea splash and biscuit crumbs.

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    Mr. Ibis Perfume Oil

    The smoke stung Shadow’s eyes. He wiped the tears away with his hand, and, through the smoke, he thought he saw a tall man in a suit, with gold-rimmed spectacles. The smoke cleared and the boatman was once more a half-human creature with the head of a river bird.

    Papyrus, vanilla flower, Egyptian musk, African musk, aloe ferox, white sandalwood.

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    The Ifrit Perfume Oil

    The taxi driver comes out of the shower, wet, with a towel wrapped around his midsection. He is not wearing his sunglasses, and in the dim room his eyes burn with scarlet flames.

    Salim blinks back tears. “I wish you could see what I see,” he says.

    “I do not grant wishes,” whispers the ifrit, dropping his towel and pushing Salim gently, but irresistibly, down onto the bed.

    Desert sand, red musk, blackened ginger, dragon’s blood resin, black pepper, cinnamon, and tobacco.

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    The Night-Raven Perfume Oil

    “You are invited to the elf hill for this evening,” said she; “but will you do me a great favor and undertake the invitations? you ought to do something, for you have no housekeeping to attend to as I have. We are going to have some very grand people, conjurors, who have always something to say; and therefore the old elf king wishes to make a great display…”

    “Croak,” said the night-raven as he flew away with the invitations.

    Indigo musk, wild plum, rose geranium, benzoin, night-blooming jasmine, and patchouli.

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    Beer from the Marsh Woman’s Brewery Perfume Oil

    In the kitchen were frogs roasting on the spit, and dishes preparing of snail skins, with children’s fingers in them, salad of mushroom seed, hemlock, noses and marrow of mice, beer from the marsh woman’s brewery, and sparkling salt-petre wine from the grave cellars.

    A beer flavored with marsh arrow grass, yew berries, purple foxglove, and giant hogweed.

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    The Grave-Pig Perfume Oil

    We must have all the old demons of the first class, with tails, and the hobgoblins and imps; and then I think we ought not to leave out the death-horse, or the grave-pig, or even the church dwarf, although they do belong to the clergy, and are not reckoned among our people; but that is merely their office, they are nearly related to us, and visit us very frequently. 

    Fig, oakmoss, mushroom caps, and patchouli.

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    Old Demons of the First Class Perfume Oil

    We must have all the old demons of the first class, with tails, and the hobgoblins and imps; and then I think we ought not to leave out the death-horse, or the grave-pig, or even the church dwarf, although they do belong to the clergy, and are not reckoned among our people; but that is merely their office, they are nearly related to us, and visit us very frequently. 

    Siberian musk, black clove, opoponax, tonka, black pepper, and neroli.

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    Vasilissa Perfume Oil

    “Take it, then,” the Tsar said, “and bid her do it for me.” The old woman brought the linen home and told Vasilissa the Tsar’s command: “Well I knew that the work would needs be done by my own hands,” said Vasilissa, and, locking herself in her own room, began to make the shirts. So fast and well did she work that soon a dozen were ready. Then the old woman carried them to the Tsar, while Vasilissa washed her face, dressed her hair, put on her best gown and sat down at the window to see what would happen. And presently a servant in the livery of the Palace came to the house and entering, said: “The Tsar, our lord, desires himself to see the clever needlewoman who has made his shirts and to reward her with his own hands.”

    Vasilissa rose and went at once to the Palace, and as soon as the Tsar saw her, he fell in love with her with all his soul. He took her by her white hand and made her sit beside him. “Beautiful maiden,” he said, “never will I part from thee and thou shalt be my wife.”

    So the Tsar and Vasilissa the Beautiful were married, and her father returned from the far-distant Tsardom, and he and the old woman lived always with her in the splendid Palace, in all joy and contentment. And as for the little wooden doll, she carried it about with her in her pocket all her life long.

    She herself had cheeks like blood and milk and grew every day more and more beautiful.

    Creamy skin musk and blushing pink musk with soft sandalwood, white amber, dutiful myrrh, and star jasmine.

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    Baba Yaga Perfume Oil

    Then suddenly the wood became full of a terrible noise; the trees began to groan, the branches to creak and the dry leaves to rustle, and the Baba Yaga came flying from the forest. She was riding in a great iron mortar and driving it with the pestle, and as she came she swept away her trail behind her with a kitchen broom.

    Spell-soaked herbs and flowers, cold iron, broom twigs, bundles of moss and patchouli root, and moth dust.

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    The Black Rider Perfume Oil

    As she stood there a third man on horseback came galloping up. His face was black, he was dressed all in black, and the horse he rode was coal-black. He galloped up to the gate of the hut and disappeared there as if he had sunk through the ground and at that moment the night came and the forest grew dark.

    But it was not dark on the green lawn, for instantly the eyes of all the skulls on the wall were lighted up and shone till the place was as bright as day. When she saw this Vasilissa trembled so with fear that she could not run away.

    Black leather, oppoponax, tobacco, and black amber.

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    The White Rider Perfume Oil

    The wood was very dark, and she could not help trembling from fear. Suddenly she heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs and a man on horseback galloped past her. He was dressed all in white, the horse under him was milk-white and the harness was white, and just as he passed her it became twilight.

    White leather and sandalwood.

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    The Little Wooden Doll Perfume Oil

    “My little Vasilissa, my dear daughter, listen to what I say, remember well my last words and fail not to carry out my wishes. I am dying, and with my blessing, I leave to thee this little doll. It is very precious for there is no other like it in the whole world. Carry it always about with thee in thy pocket and never show it to anyone. When evil threatens thee or sorrow befalls thee, go into a corner, take it from thy pocket and give it something to eat and drink. It will eat and drink a little, and then thou mayest tell it thy trouble and ask its advice, and it will tell thee how to act in thy time of need.” So saying, she kissed her little daughter on the forehead, blessed her, and shortly after died.

    Little Vasilissa grieved greatly for her mother, and her sorrow was so deep that when the dark night came, she lay in her bed and wept and did not sleep. At length she be thought herself of the tiny doll, so she rose and took it from the pocket of her gown and finding a piece of wheat bread and a cup of kvass, she set them before it, and said: “There, my little doll, take it. Eat a little, and drink a little, and listen to my grief. My dear mother is dead and I am lonely for her.”

    Then the doll’s eyes began to shine like fireflies, and suddenly it became alive. It ate a morsel of the bread and took a sip of the kvass, and when it had eaten and drunk, it said:

    “Don’t weep, little Vasilissa. Grief is worst at night. Lie down, shut thine eyes, comfort thyself and go to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening.” So Vasilissa the Beautiful lay down, comforted herself and went to sleep, and the next day her grieving was not so deep and her tears were less bitter.

    Gently carved wood warm with a maternal love that reaches beyond death: rose-infused amber and soft golden sandalwood.

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    The Lights of Men’s Lives Perfume Oil

    When Death saw that for a second time he was defrauded of his own property, he walked up to the physician with long strides, and said, “All is over with thee, and now the lot falls on thee,” and seized him so firmly with his ice-cold hand, that he could not resist, and led him into a cave below the earth. There he saw how thousands and thousands of candles were burning in countless rows, some large, others half-sized, others small. Every instant some were extinguished, and others again burnt up, so that the flames seemed to leap hither and thither in perpetual change. “See,” said Death, “these are the lights of men’s lives. The large ones belong to children, the half-sized ones to married people in their prime, the little ones belong to old people; but children and young folks likewise have often only a tiny candle.” “Show me the light of my life,” said the physician, and he thought that it would be still very tall. Death pointed to a little end which was just threatening to go out, and said, “Behold, it is there.”

    The wax and smoke of millions upon millions of candles illuminating the walls of Death’s shadowy cave: some tall, straight, and strong, blazing with the fire of life, others dim and guttering.

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    The Sea Foams Blood Perfume Oil

    When you return go alone, just you and the children and when you approach the beach then call for me:

    Zilvine, Zilvineli,
    If alive, may the sea foam milk
    If dead, may the sea foam blood…

    And if you see coming towards you foaming milk then know that I am still alive, but if blood comes then I have reached my end. While you, my children, let not the secret out, do not let anyone know how to call for me.

    Blood rising through an ocean wave.

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    The Sea Foams Milk Perfume Oil

    When you return go alone, just you and the children and when you approach the beach then call for me:

    Zilvine, Zilvineli,
    If alive, may the sea foam milk
    If dead, may the sea foam blood…

    And if you see coming towards you foaming milk then know that I am still alive, but if blood comes then I have reached my end. While you, my children, let not the secret out, do not let anyone know how to call for me.

    Milk cresting on an ocean wave.

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    The Rose Perfume Oil

    When they found that their father must take a journey to the ship, the two eldest begged he would not fail to bring them back some new gowns, caps, rings, and all sorts of trinkets. But Beauty asked for nothing; for she thought in herself that all the ship was worth would hardly buy everything her sisters wished for. “Beauty,” said the merchant, “how comes it that you ask for nothing: what can I bring you, my child?”

    “Since you are so kind as to think of me, dear father,” she answered, “I should be glad if you would bring me a rose, for we have none in our garden.” Now Beauty did not indeed wish for a rose, nor anything else, but she only said this that she might not affront her sisters; otherwise they would have said she wanted her father to praise her for desiring nothing.

    The promise of a rose: red rose petals, fresh sap, and the sharp green scent of stem and leaf.

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  • Arachne of Lydia Perfume Oil

    Rukh was standing before a cage that contained nothing but a small brown spider weaving a modest web across the bars. “Arachne of Lydia,” he told the crowd. “Guaranteed the greatest weaver in the world – her fate’s the proof of it. She had the bad luck to defeat the goddess Athena in a weaving contest. Athena was a sore loser, and Arachne is now a spider, creating only for Mommy Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival, by special arrangement. Warp of snow and woof of flame, and never any two the same. Arachne.”

    Strung on the loom of iron bars, the web was very simple and almost colorless, except for an occasional rainbow shiver when the spider scuttled out on it to put a thread right. But it drew the onlookers’ eyes – and the unicorn’s eyes as well – back and forth and steadily deeper, until they seemed to be looking down into great rifts in the world, black fissures that widened remorselessly and yet would not fall into pieces as long as Arachne’s web held the world together. The unicorn shook herself free with a sigh, and saw the real web again. It was very simple, and almost colorless.

    “It isn’t like the others,” she said. “No,” Schmendrick agreed grudgingly. “But there’s no credit due to Mommy Fortuna for that. You see, the spider believes. She sees those cat’s-cradles herself and thinks them her own work. Belief makes all the difference to magic like Mommy Fortuna’s. Why, if that troop of witlings withdrew their wonder, there’d be nothing left of all her witchery but the sound of a spider weeping. And no one would hear it.”

    Soft brown and Tyrian purple: dusty clove and blackcurrant.

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    Norman’s Grandma Perfume Oil

    A soft, ethereal scent suffused with gentle comfort. A remembrance of tea roses, lilacs, and soothing hugs.

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    The Great Sword of War Perfume Oil

    And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

    Mandarin, tonka, saffron, black tea, cocoa, tobacco leaf, sanguine red musk and five classical herbs of conflict.

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    Dorian

    The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.

    Inspired by and created for my beloved Tedwin: my eternal, beautiful, wicked Dorian Gray. Refined, elegant, and lovely, with a noble bearing and seemingly gentle air. This blend is an artful deception: a sweet gilded blossom lying over a twisted and corrupted core. A Victorian fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea.

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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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    High-Strung Daisies Perfume Oil

    `It says “Bough-wough!” cried a Daisy: `that’s why its branches are called boughs!’ 

    `Didn’t you know that?’ cried another Daisy, and here they all began shouting together, till the air seemed quite full of little shrill voices. `Silence, every one of you!’ cried the Tiger-lily, waving itself passionately from side to side, and trembling with excitement. `They know I can’t get at them!’ it panted, bending its quivering head towards Alice, `or they wouldn’t dare to do it!’ 

    `Never mind!’ Alice said in a soothing tone, and stooping down to the daisies, who were just beginning again, she whispered, `If you don’t hold your tongues, I’ll pick you!’ 

    There was silence in a moment, and several of the pink daisies turned white. 

    `That’s right!’ said the Tiger-lily. `The daisies are worst of all. When one speaks, they all begin together, and it’s enough to make one wither to hear the way they go on!’

    `How is it you can all talk so nicely?’ Alice said, hoping to get it into a better temper by a compliment. `I’ve been in many gardens before, but none of the flowers could talk.’

    `Put your hand down, and feel the ground,’ said the Tiger-lily. `Then you’ll know why.

    Alice did so. `It’s very hard,’ she said, `but I don’t see what that has to do with it.’

    `In most gardens,’ the Tiger-lily said, `they make the beds too soft — so that the flowers are always asleep.’

    This sounded a very good reason, and Alice was quite pleased to know it. `I never thought of that before!’ she said.

    `It’s my opinion that you never think at all,’ the Rose said in a rather severe tone.

    Daisy, pink carnation, pink pepper, and sugar.

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    Snooty Rose Perfume Oil

    `It isn’t manners for us to begin, you know,’ said the Rose, `and I really was wondering when you’d speak! Said I to myself, “Her face has got some sense in it, thought it’s not a clever one!” Still, you’re the right colour, and that goes a long way.’ 

    `I don’t care about the colour,’ the Tiger-lily remarked. `If only her petals curled up a little more, she’d be all right.’ 

    Alice didn’t like being criticised, so she began asking questions. `Aren’t you sometimes frightened at being planted out here, with nobody to take care of you?’ 

    `There’s the tree in the middle,’ said the Rose: `what else is it good for?’ 

    `But what could it do, if any danger came?’ Alice asked.

    Red rose, oud, plum, bergamot, and red sandalwood.

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    White Rabbit Perfume Oil

    Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen.

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    Two, Five & Seven Perfume Oil

    ‘Would you tell me,’ said Alice, a little timidly, ‘why you are painting those roses?’

    Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began in a low voice, ‘Why the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we’re doing our best, afore she comes, to–’

    A huge bouquet of squished rose petals: Bulgarian rose, Somalian rose, Turkish rose, Damascus rose, red and white rose, tea rose, wine rose, shrub roses, rose, rose, rose…

    …and just an itty bitty bit of green grass.

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    Twinkle, Twinkle Little Bat Perfume Oil

    Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
    How I wonder what you’re at!
    Up above the world you fly,
    Like a teatray in the sky.
    Twinkle, twinkle little bat!
    How I wonder what you’re at!

    A sparkly, batty little scent: green tea, melon, mint, lime rind, and champagne grape with lemon balm, mullein, and toadflax.

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    Tweedledee Perfume Oil

    Tweedledum and Tweedledee 
    Agreed to have a battle! 
    For Tweedledum said Tweedledee 
    Had spoiled his nice new rattle. 

    Just then flew down a monstrous crow, 
    As black as a tar-barrel! 
    Which frightened both the heroes so, 
    They quite forgot their quarrel.’

    Ridiculous! Kumquat, white pepper, white tea and orange blossom.

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    Tweedledum Perfume Oil

    Tweedledum and Tweedledee 
    Agreed to have a battle! 
    For Tweedledum said Tweedledee 
    Had spoiled his nice new rattle. 

    Just then flew down a monstrous crow, 
    As black as a tar-barrel! 
    Which frightened both the heroes so, 
    They quite forgot their quarrel.’

    Absurd! Green mango, fig, patchouli and green tea.

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    Red Queen Perfume Oil

    Deep mahogany and rich, velvety woods lacquered with sweet, black-red cherries and currant.

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    Queen of Hearts Perfume Oil

    Lily of the Valley, Calla Lily, stephanotis and a drop of cherry.

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    Queen Alice Perfume Oil

    At this moment the door was flung open, and a shrill voice was heard singing: 

    ‘To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said
    “I’ve a sceptre in hand, I’ve a crown on my head.
    Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be
    Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”‘
    And hundreds of voices joined in the chorus: 
    ‘Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,
    And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran:
    Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea —
    And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!’

    Then followed a confused noise of cheering, and Alice thought to herself `Thirty times three makes ninety. I wonder if any one’s counting?’ In a minute there was silence again, and the same shrill voice sang another verse: 

    ‘”O Looking-Glass creatures,” quoth Alice, “draw near!
    ‘Tis an honour to see me, a favour to hear:
    ‘Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea
    Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”‘
    Then came the chorus again: 
    ‘Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,
    Or anything else that is pleasant to drink:
    Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine —
    And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!’

    Carnation, posies, and white amber with a hint of inky treacle, sandy cider, and wooly wine.

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    Mouse’s Long and Sad Tale Perfume Oil

    ‘Fury said to a
    mouse, That he
    met in the
    house,
    “Let us
    both go to
    law: I will
    prosecute
    YOU. –Come,
    I’ll take no
    denial; We
    must have a
    trial: For
    really this
    morning I’ve
    nothing
    to do.”
    Said the
    mouse to the
    cur, “Such
    a trial,
    dear Sir,
    With
    no jury
    or judge,
    would be
    wasting
    our
    breath.”
    “I’ll be
    judge, I’ll
    be jury,”
    Said
    cunning
    old Fury:
    “I’ll
    try the
    whole
    cause,
    and
    condemn
    you
    to
    d
    e
    a
    t
    h
    .”

    Vanilla, two ambers, sweet pea and white sandalwood.

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    Mad Hatter Perfume Oil

    A gentlemen’s lavender-citron cologne unhinged by the feral pungence of black musk and a paroxysm of pennyroyal.

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    Lion Perfume Oil

    The dry, glorious warmth of the Savannah. A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious.

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    Knave of Hearts Perfume Oil

    ‘Herald, read the accusation!’ said the King.

    On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:–

    ‘The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
    All on a summer day:
    The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,
    And took them quite away!’

    Crushed roses and blackcurrant tarts.

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    King of Hearts Perfume Oil

    ‘How do you like the Queen?’ said the Cat in a low voice. 

    ‘Not at all,’ said Alice: ‘she’s so extremely–‘ Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went on, ‘–likely to win, that it’s hardly worth while finishing the game.’ 

    The Queen smiled and passed on. 

    ‘Who ARE you talking to?’ said the King, going up to Alice, and looking at the Cat’s head with great curiosity.

    ‘It’s a friend of mine–a Cheshire Cat,’ said Alice: ‘allow me to introduce it.’ 

    ‘I don’t like the look of it at all,’ said the King: ‘however, it may kiss my hand if it likes.’ 

    ‘I’d rather not,’ the Cat remarked. 

    ‘Don’t be impertinent,’ said the King, ‘and don’t look at me like that!’ He got behind Alice as he spoke.

    ‘A cat may look at a king,’ said Alice. ‘I’ve read that in some book, but I don’t remember where.’ 

    ‘Well, it must be removed,’ said the King very decidedly, and he called the Queen, who was passing at the moment, ‘My dear! I wish you would have this cat removed!’ 

    The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or small. 

    ‘-Off with his head!’ she said, without even looking round. 

    ‘I’ll fetch the executioner myself,’ said the King eagerly, and he hurried off. 

    Rosewood and black cherry with white musk, red rose, red musk and a spark of lavender.

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    Jabberwocky Perfume Oil

    And, as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
    Come whiffing through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

    An earthy yet buoyant scent: pine, eucalyptus and orange.

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    Eat Me

    Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words ‘EAT ME’ were beautifully marked in currants.

    ‘Well, I’ll eat it,’ said Alice, ‘and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I’ll get into the garden, and I don’t care which happens!’ 

    She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, ‘Which way? Which way?’, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.

    Three white cakes, vanilla, and red and black currants.

    BPAL’s Eat Me is not for eating. Please use common sense, and remember: perfume oils are for external use only.

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    Drink Me Perfume Oil

    There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it, (‘which certainly was not here before,’ said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words ‘DRINK ME’ beautifully printed on it in large letters.

    It was all very well to say ‘Drink me,’ but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. ‘No, I’ll look first,’ she said, ‘and see whether it’s marked “poison” or not’; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked ‘poison,’ it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.

    However, this bottle was not marked ‘poison,’ so Alice ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.

    BPAL’s Drink Me is not for drinking. Please use common sense, and remember: perfume oils are for external use only.

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    Dormouse Perfume Oil

    A dizzying eddy of four teas brushed with light herbs and a breath of peony.

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    Dodo Perfume Oil

    ‘In that case,’ said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, ‘I move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies –’

    ‘Speak English!’ said the Eaglet. ‘I don’t know the meaning of half those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t believe you do either!’ And the Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds tittered audibly.

    ‘What I was going to say,’ said the Dodo in an offended tone, ‘was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race.’

    ‘What is a Caucus-race?’ said Alice; not that she wanted much to know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that somebody ought to speak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything.

    ‘Why,’ said the Dodo, ‘the best way to explain it is to do it.’ (And, as you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter day, I will tell you how the Dodo managed it.)

    First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (‘the exact shape doesn’t matter,’ it said,) and then all the party were placed along the course, here and there. There was no ‘One, two, three, and away,’ but they began running when they liked, and left off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over. However, when they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out ‘The race is over!’ and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, ‘But who has won?’

    This question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its forehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in the pictures of him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo said, ‘everybody has won, and all must have prizes.’

    Red musk, lemon peel, sugar cane, cassia, white sandalwood, mango, and agarwood.

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    Croquet Perfume Oil

    ‘Get to your places!’ shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder, and people began running about in all directions, tumbling up against each other; however, they got settled down in a minute or two, and the game began. Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground in her life; it was all ridges and furrows; the balls were live hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers had to double themselves up and to stand on their hands and feet, to make the arches.

    The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo: she succeeded in getting its body tucked away, comfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but generally, just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out, and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it would twist itself round and look up in her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not help bursting out laughing: and when she had got its head down, and was going to begin again, it was very provoking to find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away: besides all this, there was generally a ridge or furrow in the way wherever she wanted to send the hedgehog to, and, as the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.

    We have some trouble managing our flamingos, too. Pink lime, pink grapefruit, white nectarine, wild rose, sage, woody patchouli, bergamot, and ornery hedgehog musk.

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    Cheshire Cat Perfume Oil

    Grapefruit, red currant, dark musk, Roman chamomile, delphinium, and lavender.

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    Caterpillar Perfume Oil

    Heavy incense notes waft lazily through a mix of carnation, jasmine, bergamot, and neroli over a lush bed of dark mosses, iris blossom, deep patchouli and indolent vetiver.

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    Alice’s Evidence Perfume Oil

    There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really clever thing the King had said that day.

    ‘That proves his guilt,’ said the Queen.

    ‘It proves nothing of the sort!’ said Alice. ‘Why, you don’t even know what they’re about!’

    ‘Read them,’ said the King.

    The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. ‘Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?’ he asked.

    ‘Begin at the beginning,’ the King said gravely, ‘and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’

    These were the verses the White Rabbit read:-

    They told me you had been to her,
    And mentioned me to him:
    She gave me a good character,
    But said I could not swim.

    He sent them word I had not gone
    (We know it to be true):
    If she should push the matter on,
    What would become of you?

    I gave her one, they gave him two,
    You gave us three or more;
    They all returned from him to you,
    Though they were mine before.

    If I or she should chance to be
    Involved in this affair,
    He trusts to you to set them free,
    Exactly as we were.

    My notion was that you had been
    (Before she had this fit)
    An obstacle that came between
    Him, and ourselves, and it,

    Don’t let him know she liked them best,
    For this must ever be
    A secret, kept from all the rest,
    Between yourself and me.

    ‘That’s the most important piece of evidence we’ve heard yet,’ said the King, rubbing his hands; ‘so now let the jury-‘

    ‘If any one of them can explain it,’ said Alice, (she had grown so large in the last few minutes that she wasn’t a bit afraid of interrupting him,) ‘I’ll give him sixpence. I don’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it.’

    The jury all wrote down on their slates, ‘She doesn’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it,’ but none of them attempted to explain the paper.

    ‘If there’s no meaning in it,’ said the King, ‘that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn’t try to find any…’

    Containing nary a neutron of meaning: rum-quince-cassis with prune and a bit of black ginger.

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  • How Doth the Little Crocodile Perfume Oil

    How doth the little crocodile
    Improve his shining tail,
    And pour the waters of the Nile
    On every golden scale!

    How cheerfully he seems to grin,
    How neatly spreads his claws,
    And welcomes little fishes in
    With gently smiling jaws!

    Chocolate peppermint, mint-soaked vanilla, pistachio, oakmoss, and green cedar.

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    Robin Goodfellow Perfume Oil

    Now the hungry lion roars,
    And the wolf behowls the moon;
    Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
    All with weary task fordone.
    Now the wasted brands do glow,
    Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
    Puts the wretch that lies in woe
    In remembrance of a shroud.
    Now it is the time of night
    That the graves all gaping wide,
    Every one lets forth his sprite,
    In the church-way paths to glide:
    And we fairies, that do run
    By the triple Hecate’s team,
    From the presence of the sun,
    Following darkness like a dream,
    Now are frolic: not a mouse
    Shall disturb this hallow’d house:
    I am sent with broom before,
    To sweep the dust behind the door.

    Dark musk, moss-covered wood, ragwort, heather, and sage.

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    The Apothecary Perfume Oil

    Tea leaf with three mosses, green grass, a medley of herbal notes, and a drop of ginger and fig.

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    Verdandi Perfume Oil

    Necessity

    Deep herbs and apple with black amber.

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    Urd Perfume Oil

    Fate

    Muscadine, black and red patchouli, cereus and nag champa.

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    Shango Perfume Oil

    The Wrath of God, the Most Beautiful Lord of Lightning, the Owner of All Palaces. He is the illumination of a lightning strike in the night sky, and is the retributive strike of the rightful king. Shango punishes those who are not living up to their responsibilities. He gives insight to the truth in all circumstances, and is the essence of the thrill and excitement in life that makes every day worth living. To love Shango is to live life to the fullest, no matter what pains the world inflicts upon you. He is Wrath, and his lightning bolts and gouts of fire remind all of his strength and power. It is said that Lord Shango only speaks to his children once; when the God illuminates an answer for you, you had best understand with no further questions. Shango is trial by fire, the honing and refinement of the spirit, the ability to distinguish between truth and lies. He is a dual-faced God: King and Exile, miser and philanthropist, just and ruthless, honest and devious. Shango is the Lord of Persuasion, and his glib tongue can intimidate, coerce, sway and seduce. He is quick wit, articulate words, and the ability to think on one’s feet. He is the King that can incite and enflame the masses with the power of his speech. His words are the sensual murmurs of the lothario, the slick wheedle of the grifter, the convincing argument of the barrister, the dangerous charm of the pimp, the inspiration of the warrior general, and the invigorating exhortations of the monarch. The Roar of Shango is a Universal Truth. Shango governs all professions that cater to the needs and weaknesses of the people. He is the absolute and perfect Male creature, and the rain that falls to earth is His blessed, sublime semen, giving life to the world. His abundant seed washes the land and replenishes Earth’s seas, rivers and oceans. He sneers at cowardice, and demands that all of his children have daring spirits, strength of will, nerve and *balls*. Courage is of the utmost importance, as it empowers us to face adversity with dignity and enables us to act decisively and with resourcefulness. Live, don’t simply exist. Shango’s gifts make it possible for us to find the shortest distance between two points, wring out the best from every situation, recover from every seeming loss and every defeat, and defy all odds to reach our goals. He teaches us wily strategies, masterful tactics, and shows us the value of friendship and camaraderie. His is the comfortable, casual friendship found in just hanging out and having a good time with the guys. Shango is Challenge, the concept of finding the best parts of yourself through conflict and adversity. Shango’s weapon is the double-headed axe, and His animals are the black cat and the leopard.

    The Master of Lightning’s ofrenda contains red apples, banana, chili pepper, coconut, pineapple, pomegranate and sugar cane.

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  • Anubis Perfume Oil

    He Who Counts the Hearts, Jackal Ruler of the Bows, He Who Is In the Place of Embalming. Jackal-headed guardian, protector and psychopomp of Egypt’s dead, he guides souls to the underworld and holds steady the scales upon which the deceased’s heart is weighed against Ma’at’s Feather of Truth. He is the creator and master of funereal rites, He Who Opens the Mouth of the Dead, and is the sentinel that watches over the sanctity of tombs and the virtue and privacy of his charges.

    His scent is a blend of holy myrrh, storax, balsam, and embalming herbs.

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  • Aizen-Myoo Perfume Oil

    A bright, bittersweet scent honoring the Japanese Deity of Love and Passion. Aizen-Myoo is one of the vidyarajas, the Shingon’s Radiant Kings of Wisdom. Though Aizen-Myoo possesses the lust, grace and passion of both genders, he most often appears to his followers as male. His face is screwed into a fearsome demonic mask, but this is only the wrathful, fierce countenance he places over himself to guide and empower his children. Aizen-Myoo is the patron of prostitutes, of joyous, unbridled sexuality and of all forms of erotic love and is worshipped by all those in the sex industry, musicians, and – oddly – landlords.

    Yuzu, kaki, and mikan with cherry blossom and black tea.

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    Cyborg Perfume Oil

    Inspired by the character GRENDEL-PRIME.
    A heavy-metal cyborg, created by the Grendel-Khan to act as a paladin protector for his only son and heir, an unstoppable killing machine.

    Gleaming metal and black leather over a khus-darkened bay rum.

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    Harlequin Perfume Oil

    Inspired by the character EPPY THATCHER.
    A futuristic, gothic harlequin, addicted to a heinous hallucinogen with the street name “Grendel”, who leads chaotic attacks against the corrupt Catholic Church.

    Psychotomimetic: pink grapefruit, white honey, orange blossom, saffron, champagne grape, elemi, guaiac, blonde tobacco, and olibanum.

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    Exorcist Perfume Oil

    Inspired by the character BRIAN LI SUNG.
    Christine’s lover who, in the aftermath of her violent death, becomes haunted and possessed by what he sees as the “entity” of Grendel.

    A refined lilac fougère with frankincense, labdanum, styrax, and dark musk.

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    Avenger Perfume Oil

    Inspired by the character CHRISTINE SPAR.
    A fashionable and fiery journalist who adopts the Grendel persona to avenge the death of her only child and is consumed by the dark identity.

    Plush vanilla bourbon and rum accord with pink pepper, patchouli, clove, pikaki, golden amber, caraway, tuberose, and jacarandá-da-bahia.

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    Mastermind Perfume Oil

    Inspired by the character HUNTER ROSE.
    The first of the Grendel legacy, a stylish, best-selling author who leads a double life as a relentless assassin and all-powerful mob overlord.

    An elegant cologne of olibanum, opoponax, leather accord, black amber, bois de jasmine, cade wood, pale balsam, orange blossom, oudh, black plum, bourbon vanilla, and sandalwood.

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    Dawn: Mourning Victory Perfume Oil

    Red sandalwood, night-blooming jasmine, white tea, hyacinth, rosehips, and tuberose.

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    Dawn: Maiden Perfume Oil

    Tea roses, honeysuckle, heliotrope, olive blossom, milk, and honey.

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  • Shanghai Perfume Oil

    The crisp, clean scent of green tea touched with lemon verbena and honeysuckle.

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  • Manhattan Perfume Oil

    Sexuality, power, confidence. A meeting of modern, sleek elegance and rich, passionate history: sheer amber, black leather, white mint, lemon peel, white tea, grapefruit, kush, teakwood and orchid.

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  • Machu Picchu Perfume Oil

    Sweet tropical fruits burst through deep, wet rainforest boughs, enormous steamy blossoms, over thin mountaintop breezes, mingled with the soft, rich golden scent of Peruvian amber.

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  • London Perfume Oil

    Venerable Victorian Tea Rose… twisted, blackened and emboldened with wickedness.

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  • Smokestack Perfume Oil

    Grey-brown flue gasses belch from colossal steel and concrete monoliths, forming bloated clouds in the dusk-dark sky.

    Creosote, coal, and industrial waste.

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  • The Robotic Scarab Perfume Oil

    Pinpoints of red light beaming from its eyes scan the room, and in a flutter of leather wings, it scuttles across the wooden floorboards.

    Polished metallic notes, glossy leather, frankincense, star anise, and thin lubricating oils.

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  • The Obsidian Widow Perfume Oil

    Tinkling tiny feet scuttle across a massive oak desk, navigating through a flurry of papers and a maze of discarded books, wires, and bolts. Glistening green venom beads at its chelicerae, and a ruby hourglass flashes from the creature’s underbelly as it begins to weave.

    Pinot noir, dark myrrh, red sandalwood, black patchouli, night-blooming jasmine, and attar of rose.

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  • No. 93 Engine Perfume Oil

    Beeswax candles reflect flickering light onto a brass-coated boiler engraved with the words “Solve Et Coagula”. The gargantuan boiler sends torrents of steam into rigid pipes that exert force onto innumerable pistons and turbine blades. The motion is harnessed to propel energy into gargantuan cogs and gears that move liquid metals, herbs, and resins into a series of alembics.

    Balm of Gilead, benzoin, frankincense, balsam of peru, beeswax, saffron, galbanum, calamus, hyssop, mastic, lemon balm, and white sage.

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  • Galvanic Goggles Perfume Oil

    Golden goggles fitted with zinc and copper plates dangle heavily by their leather straps from a hook mounted to the wall. Its crystal lenses are effulgent with residual electric energy.

    Metallic notes with Indian musk, tobacco flower, and African balsam.

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  • The Antikythera Mechanism

    Bronze gears spin inside a polished wooden case, and an entire universe dances within.

    Teakwood, oak, black vanilla, and tobacco.

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  • Aelopile Perfume Oil

    Smoldering coals heat the device from below, and steam hisses through two curved pipes, rotating the shining brass sphere.

    Glowing amber and citrus, labdanum, verbena, cedar, and oud.

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    Mr. Qubit Perfume Oil

    An eccentric genius and leader of the superhero team The Paradigm, Qubit can meld and shape technology with a gesture, allowing him to create whatever he can envision.

    Gleaming metal, electrical discharge, and a whiff of tinny cologne.

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    Volt Perfume Oil

    A living electrical battery, Volt plays the wiseass clown for his teammates, using humor to mask his awkwardness and his need for acceptance.

    Leather with a shock of eucalyptus, green mint, elemi, ravintsara and lime.

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    Yurei Perfume Oil

    The most fearsome of Kaidan’s conjured warriors, his sword can shear through anything — or anyone.

    White tea, hibiscus, Arabian sandalwood, white amber, ho leaf, pale Japanese flowers, and vetiver.

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  • Evil Perfume Oil

    Smouldering opium tar, tobacco absolute, green tea, black plum, kush, ambergris accord, ambrette seed, and costus root.

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  • Half-Elf Perfume Oil

    White sandalwood, beeswax, white tea leaf, oud, and a hint of sophisticated urban musk.

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  • Kumiho Perfume Oil

    Nine-tailed fox demon of Korean lore who transforms into the visage of an irresistible beauty in order to seduce men and lead them to their doom.

    A sharp, biting blend of crisp white tea and ginger.

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  • Plunder Perfume Oil

    The scent of a pirate’s bumboat, overflowing with stolen wares: tea leaf, cassia, cinnamon bark, clove, allspice, sandalwood, tobacco, peppercorn, and nutmeg.

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  • Ouija Perfume Oil

    Lush parlor rooms draped in thick velvets and gilded in gold, unearthly whispering in the distance, fleeting flashes of wraithlike figures rushing just outside your vision, the chill of a phantom presence brushing by your cheek, the inscrutable knowledge that disembodied eyes are peering at you from darkened corners… this is the essence of Victorian-era spiritualism: rosewood, oak and teak notes with wispy blue lilac, tea rose, dried white rose and ethereal osmanthus.

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  • Ode on Melancholy Perfume Oil

    No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
    Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
    Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
    By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
    Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
    Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
    Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
    A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
    For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
    And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

    But when the melancholy fit shall fall
    Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
    That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
    And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
    Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
    Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
    Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
    Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
    Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
    And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

    She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die;
    And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
    Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
    Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
    Ay, in the very temple of Delight
    Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
    Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
    Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
    His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
    And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

    Beauty, joy, pleasure and delight: devastated. This is the scent of the hopelessness, torment and despair of love. Lavender and wisteria, heart-wrenching pale rose, desolate white sandalwood and thin, tear-streaked white musk.

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  • High John The Conqueror Perfume Oil

    A fast-acting, powerful scent used to overcome adversity through positive means. Attracts wealth, prestige, good health, and enhances others’ opinions of you. Grants courage and steadfastness.

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  • Baobhan Sith Perfume Oil

    The ghostly White Women of the Scottish highlands. They seduce unwary travelers by night with their unearthly beauty and mesmerizing dancing. They engage their victims in a wild, hypnotic dance, and once they reach exhaustion, exsanguinate their partners with their vampiric kiss. Grapefruit, white tea, apple blossom and ginger.

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  • Hell’s Belle Perfume Oil

    Sweet, smokey and sensually wicked. A thick, steamy scent, truly sinister in its voluptuous sexuality. The perfume of a demon’s favored consort, or of the devil herself. Oleander with wet, sweet mandarin, lush magnolia, a rush of deep musk and a touch of spice.

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  • Kubla Khan Perfume Oil

    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree:
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.

    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round:
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
    But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
    A savage place! as holy and enchanted
    As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced:
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
    And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
    And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war!

    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw:
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
    That with music loud and long
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread,
    For he on honey-dew hath fed
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.

    Through sunlit caves of ice, roses unfurl amidst dancing waves of serpentine opium smoke and amber tobacco, golden sandalwood, champaca, tea leaf, sugared lily, ginger, rich hay absolute, leather, dark vanilla, mandarin, peru balsam, and Moroccan jasmine.

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    The Harlot’s House Perfume Oil

    We caught the tread of dancing feet,
    We loitered down the moonlit street,
    And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.

    Inside, above the din and fray,
    We heard the loud musicians play
    The “Treues Liebes Herz” of Strauss.

    Like strange mechanical grotesques,
    Making fantastic arabesques,
    The shadows raced across the blind.

    We watched the ghostly dancers spin
    To sound of horn and violin,
    Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

    Like wire-pulled automatons,
    Slim silhouetted skeletons
    Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

    The took each other by the hand,
    And danced a stately saraband;
    Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

    Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
    A phantom lover to her breast,
    Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

    Sometimes a horrible marionette
    Came out, and smoked its cigarette
    Upon the steps like a live thing.

    Then, turning to my love, I said,
    “The dead are dancing with the dead,
    The dust is whirling with the dust.”

    But she–she heard the violin,
    And left my side, and entered in:
    Love passed into the house of lust.

    Then suddenly the tune went false,
    The dancers wearied of the waltz,
    The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

    And down the long and silent street,
    The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
    Crept like a frightened girl.

    The dead are dancing with the dead, the dust is whirling with the dust: angel’s trumpet, violet, white sandalwood, oude, copaiba balsam, angelica, white tea, olibanum, and oakmoss.

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  • The Forest Reverie Perfume Oil

    ‘Tis said that when
    The hands of men
    Tamed this primeval wood,
    And hoary trees with groans of woe,
    Like warriors by an unknown foe,
    Were in their strength subdued,
    The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
    To springs that ne’er did flow
    That in the sun Did rivulets run,
    And all around rare flowers did blow
    The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
    And the queenly lily adown the dale
    (Whom the sun and the dew
    And the winds did woo),
    With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.

    So when in tears
    The love of years
    Is wasted like the snow,
    And the fine fibrils of its life
    By the rude wrong of instant strife
    Are broken at a blow
    Within the heart
    Do springs upstart
    Of which it doth now know,
    And strange, sweet dreams,
    Like silent streams
    That from new fountains overflow,
    With the earlier tide
    Of rivers glide
    Deep in the heart whose hope has died —
    Quenching the fires its ashes hide, —
    Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
    Sweet flowers, ere long,
    The rare and radiant flowers of song!

    A sunlit ancient forest, dotted with wild roses, grape vine, and queenly lilies, clothed in swirls of opium smoke.

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  • The Black Tower Perfume Oil

    Say that the men of the old black tower,
    Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
    Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
    Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
    That all are oath-bound men:
    Those banners come not in.

    There in the tomb stand the dead upright,
    But winds come up from the shore:
    They shake when the winds roar,
    Old bones upon the mountain shake.

    Those banners come to bribe or threaten,
    Or whisper that a man’s a fool
    Who, when his own right king’s forgotten,
    Cares what king sets up his rule.
    If he died long ago
    Why do you dread us so?

    There in the tomb drops the faint moonlight,
    But wind comes up from the shore:
    They shake when the winds roar,
    Old bones upon the mountain shake.

    The tower’s old cook that must climb and clamber
    Catching small birds in the dew of the morn
    When we hale men lie stretched in slumber
    Swears that he hears the king’s great horn.
    But he’s a lying hound:
    Stand we on guard oath-bound!

    There in the tomb the dark grows blacker,
    But wind comes up from the shore:
    They shake when the winds roar,
    Old bones upon the mountain shake.

    A sepulchral, desolate scent. Long-dead soldiers, oath-bound; the perfume of their armor, the chill wind that surges through their tower, white bone and blackened steel: white sandalwood, ambergris, wet ozone, galbanum and leather with ebony, teak, burnt grasses, English ivy and a hint of red wine.

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  • Bewitched Perfume Oil

    Deep, luscious green and berry scents that evoke images of woodland witchcraft and the raw power of nature: blackberry, sage, green tea, wild berries and dark musk.

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  • Embalming Fluid Perfume Oil

    A light, pure scent: white musk, green tea, aloe and lemon.

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  • Perversion Perfume Oil

    The perfect scent to wear to your next bondage ball, dungeon adventure or sojourn to your favorite pleasure dome. Smoky rum and black tobacco with a whisper of steamy leather with a splash of crystalline chardonnay, layered over a sensual, sweet, and deceptively magnetic base of tonka.

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  • Maiden Perfume Oil

    A gentle vision of purity, goodness and virtue: white tea, carnation and Damask Rose.

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  • Desire Perfume Oil

    The overwhelming agony of passion crystallized into a singularly dark and magnetic blend: bittersweet neroli, black patchouli and black musk, gilded by apple, bergamot, blood red rose, teak, and vanilla.

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