13 HoursAdd to cart
“You have 13 hours in which to solve the Labyrinth… before your baby brother becomes one of us… forever.”
A scent of profound foreboding: dusty black stone, dried rosehips, black moss, and creeping ivy.
Arachne of LydiaOut of Stock
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 Arachneâ€™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.
AziraphaleAdd to cart
Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. Two of these were wrong; Heaven is not England, whatever certain poets may have thought, and angels are sexless unless they really want to make an effort.
Ethereal musk, blonde woods, and dusty Bible accord.
CicutaAdd to cart
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.
The Native American Creator / Trickster God of Chaos and Change.
The warmth of doeskin, dry plains grasses and soft, dusty woods warmed by amber and a downy, gentle coat of deep musk.
Crib GirlsOut of Stock
Situated on of the lowest rungs in the Red Light District’s hierarchy, the crib girls solicited from their windows and doorways, entertaining their clients in sparsely furnished, dingy two-room apartments.
Seven honeys under one unkempt roof, with fiery-tart cubeb and dusty cardamom.
Ginny, The Reaper of VengeanceAdd to cart
Sharp tobacco flower and white cognac, a thin layer of smoke, and dusty black pepper pierced by the amber of her eyes.