Our atmosphere sprays are composed with the same artistry and depth as our perfume oils, designed to linger in the air, subtly reshaping the energy of a room. A single mist can soften the edges of the day, summon a myth, or open the door to somewhere else entirely.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven --an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue --and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with orange --the fifth with white --the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet --a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that protected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
It's that time of year again, when otherwise sensible people spend their weekends trespassing in cornfields, decorating their homes with representations of human remains, and willingly paying strangers to frighten them. Naturally, we've been looking forward to it all year.
This Halloween, we're throwing open the doors of a particularly ill-tempered haunted house, where the gramophone plays to an empty room, the wallpaper conceals something best left undisturbed, and the family portraits have developed some deeply objectionable habits. Elsewhere, Prince Prospero is hosting a lavish masquerade with a rather unfortunate guest list, the cathedrals are filling with strange sacraments, and the local werewolves have once again failed to budget for replacement clothing.
We've also been indulging in the usual seasonal excesses: graveyard dirt, autumn bonfires, sinister confections, questionable pumpkin experiments, and enough Halloween candy to alarm your dentist. Our new hometown of Philadelphia has inspired an especially regrettable act of culinary perfumery involving pumpkin spice and cheesesteaks. We offer no apologies.
There are old favorites returning from the grave, new perfumes of dubious provenance, and a whole assortment of grooming products and claw polishes for making yourself presentable to the living, the dead, and anyone whose status remains uncertain.
Come in, come in. Mind the staircase, don't look too closely at the wedding portrait, and whatever you do, don't accept anything the dumbwaiter brings up.
Happy Halloween, you beautiful creeps.
Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab is an independent gothic perfumery founded in Los Angeles in 2002 and now handcrafting artisanal fragrances from our home in Philadelphia, where we blend every indie perfume oil by hand in small batches, drawing on literature, mythology, folklore, horror, the occult, and the dark romance of vampires and Victorian mourning to create scents for goths, dreamers, and anyone who wants their perfume to tell a story.
Alongside our alcohol-free perfume oils, which are made to be worn close to the skin and unfold slowly over hours, we make scented lotions, hair glosses, beard oils, room sprays, and atmosphere sprays, along with ritual and condition oils, “Claw” Nail Polish, limited-edition seasonal releases for Halloween, Yule, and Lupercalia, and licensed collections inspired by film, television, and literature. Gamers will find a whole world of fantasy perfume and RPG-inspired scents designed to enhance tabletop and TTRPG sessions, from the tavern and the dungeon to the wizard’s tower, and our sister brand, Twilight Alchemy Lab, carries the same handmade niche spirit into its own corner of the dark.
Discovery sets are available to sample our atmospheric and nostalgic perfume oils so that you can find your signature scent. All of our products are cruelty-free and never tested on animals.
