Cold

  • Black Forest Perfume Oil

    This is the captured scent of a cold, moonless night, lost deep within the darkest wood. Haunting and desolate, this scent evokes images of fairy tale tragedy and half-remembered nightmares. Thick, viscous pine with ambergris, black musk, juniper and cypress.

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    Ice Perfume Oil

    Devoted ruthlessness. This is the scent of razors, cold metal, icicles, and her diamond-tipped claws: eucalyptus blossom, crystalline musk, white ginger, mint, and elemi.

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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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  • october

    October Perfume Oil

    Ay, thou art welcome, heaven’s delicious breath!
    When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
    And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief
    And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
    Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
    In the gay woods and in the golden air,
    Like to a good old age released from care,
    Journeying, in long serenity, away.
    In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
    Might wear out life like thee, ‘mid bowers and brooks
    And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
    And music of kind voices ever nigh;
    And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
    Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.
    – William Cullen Bryant

    Dry, cold autumn wind. A rustle of red leaves, a touch of smoke and sap in the air.

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    The Snowglobe Perfume Oil

    She looked around the room. It was so familiar-that was what made it feel so truly strange. Everything was exactly the same as she remembered: there was all her grandmother’s strange-smelling furniture, there was the painting of the bowl of fruit (a bunch of grapes, two plums, a peach and an apple) hanging on the wall, there was the low wooden table with the lion’s feet, and the empty fireplace which seemed to suck heat from the room.

    But there was something else, something she did not remember seeing before. A ball of glass, up on the mantelpiece.

    She went over to the fireplace, went up on tiptoes, and lifted it down. It was a snow globe, with two little people in it. Coraline shook it and set the snow flying, white snow that glittered as it tumbled through the water.

    Then she put the snow globe back on the mantelpiece, and carried on looking for her true parents and for a way out.

    Cold leaded glass, bone chip snow, and glycerin.

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