Ice

  • A Winter’s Scene with Skaters near a Castle

    A Winter’s Scene with Skaters Near a Castle Perfume Oil

    Hendrick Avercamp
    Snow-covered stroopwafels, ice-rimed brown leaves, and a swish of boot leather.

    Add to cart
  • Black Ice Sleeper Perfume Oil

    The conservation of emotional energy and deep magic to survive the most forbidding winters.

     

    Bittersweet apples encased in ice.

    Add to cart
  • This image is decorative

    Fuck This Heat Perfume Oil

    What global warming? Slivers of ice to cool things down, lavender and hops flower to soothe the nerves.

    Proceeds benefit getting the goddamn AC fixed in the front parlor at BPAL so Teddy and Claire don’t sweat to death and we don’t roast people alive at Lunacy.

    Add to cart
  • 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.

    Select Options
  • This image is decorative

    Lakeside Home & Linen Spray

    “There was a reason he hid me in Lakeside, wasn’t there? There was a reason nobody should have been able to find me here.”

    Hinzelmann said nothing. He unhooked a heavy black poker from its place on the wall, and he prodded at the fire with it, sending up a cloud of orange sparks and smoke. “This is my home,” he said, petulantly. “It’s a good town.”

    Perfect wholesomeness: green grass, summer daisies, spring daffodils, and bake sale cookies bought with blood and terror, all frozen beneath a sheet of thick black ice.

    Add to cart
  • This image is decorative

    The Urchins Perfume Oil

    You hear a tittering of laughter: high-pitched and discordant, like bent, cracked silver bells clattering onto sheets of rusted metal. In the gloom of a dilapidated tent, the glow of small red eyes reflects on shining steel blades.

    Dust and dead, dry flowers, ice-cold skin, the swish of a metal blade, and a memory of honey.

    Add to cart
  • Winter Landscape, Rime Perfume Oil

    Aleksey Savrasov

    Evergreens enveloped in hoarfrost, cloaked in fog. A silent lake encased in sheets of ice.

    Out of Stock