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.
Ghost MusicAdd to cart
Gloomy and bare the organ-loft,
Bent-backed and blind the organist.
From rafters looming shadowy,
From the pipes’ tuneful company,
Drifted together drowsily,
Innumerable, formless, dim,
The ghosts of long-dead melodies,
Of anthems, stately, thunderous,
Of Kyries shrill and tremulous:
In melancholy drowsy-sweet
They huddled there in harmony.
Like bats at noontide rafter-hung.
– Robert Graves
Sheets of white musk and lavender curling around a melancholy song of violet root, iris, neroli, and honeysuckle.
Perchta 2018Add to cart
Perchta, the Shining One, is the Lady of the Beasts, an incarnation of the goddess Holda. She, too, leads the Wild Hunt, and is the protectress of wild animals, and appears to mortals as either a white-clad, white-skinned, white-haired beauty, or as a brutish, bestial hag. She is called Berhte Mit Dem Fuoze; one of her feet is shaped like a beast’s, which gives away her superhuman nature no matter how she is disguised. She is also called Perchta the Belly-Slitter, for, at Yuletide, she castigates the wicked, slovenly, and idle, and rewards those that are generous, good-natured, and kind. The Belly-Slitter enforced community taboos, punishing those that spun during holy days and those who failed to partake in sacred feasts, thus jeopardizing the next year’s harvest. Her punishments can be a bit over-the-top, though: they include disemboweling the transgressor and filling the empty cavity with refuse.
Her scent is a blend of wild musk, snow, and alpine flora: Nigritella lithopolitanica, balsam fir, aconite, crocus, touch-me-not, edelweiss, iced sugar crystals, Iris variegate, and violet.
It was a terrible, indescribable thing vaster than any subway train – a shapeless congerie of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light all over the tunnel-filling front that bore down upon us, crushing the frantic penguins and slithering over the glistening floor that it and its kind had swept so evilly free of all litter.
An amorphous, radiant, incandescent scent. Ever changing, protoplasmic and primordial: white amber, green coconut meat, iris, palmarosa, Chinese peony, lime, water lily, snowdrop, muguet, lemongrass, osmanthus, wisteria, glassy musk, and hinoki.
SkybornAdd to cart
“The Overlight, we called it.
and it is by its colored rays that you will
know your power, oh Skyborn child”
An otherworldly, iridescent shine, casked on-site at the Manifold Elixarium: opalescent lavenderine, sheer white musk, wild bergamot, iris and white amber drifting on a pale cloud of Hearthwood Ash.
The GrindhouseAdd to cart
Throaty laughter captures your attention. Across the lane you see a buxom Venetian woman standing before a huge black and red striped tent. Her head is inclined towards a dapper, leering man, and they appear to be sharing a private joke. He reaches into his waistcoat and produces a gold coin. The woman plucks it from his fingers. He bows, and walks into the tent with a swagger. A sign flashes above the tent flap in letters that seem to be aflame: The Grindhouse, Dead or Live Girls.
The Madam turns towards you and smiles. As she approaches, someone within the tent strikes a few keys on a tuneless piano, and begins to play Jelly Roll Morton’s ‘the Crave’. The light within the tent illuminates the interior, shining behind the silhouettes of naked women gyrating lewdly upon raised stages, writhing in time with the music.
In the distance, behind the tent, you hear a whip crack, and a man’s scream. Tittering laughter follows, and the screams continue.
“Voulez-vous un morceau de la boîte de bonbon?” she asks, gesturing gracefully towards the tent.
The Madam’s perfume envelops you.
Florentine iris, red musk, mimosa, magnolia, Damascus rose, clove, and vanilla bean.
The ImperatorOut of Stock
Commanding his legions to secure the safety of his people and promote the expansion of his lands: steel and gold wreathed by a crown of bay and iris.
The RavenSelect Options
Sleek, dark, and ominous. Violet and neroli mingled with iris, white sandalwood and dark musk.
The Silver DollarAdd to cart
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.
The VelvetsAdd to cart
Five almost identically dressed, pale young women walked past him. They wore long dresses made of velvet, each dress as dark as night, one each of dark green, dark chocolate, royal blue, dark blood, and pure black. Each woman had black hair and wore silver jewelry; each was perfectly coifed, perfectly made up. They moved silently: Richard was only aware of a swish of heavy velvet as they went past, a swish that sounded almost like a sigh.
Smooth inky musk, cathedral incense, ylang ylang, violet leaf, rose-infused amber, red sandalwood, and iris.
VespilloAdd to cart
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.
Zarita, The Doll GirlAdd to cart
A tiny woman stands in the center of the stage, the perfect woman in miniature, her copper hair bouncing in elegant curls. She is surrounded on all sides by a necropolis of maimed, mutilated stuffed animals, decapitated fashion dolls, and eviscerated wooden figures. It is a strangely ghastly tableau: the disemboweled toys ooze fiberfill, batting, and sawdust from their gaping wounds. In one dainty hand she clutches a shard of glass, and in the other she nimbly twirls a razor blade. Her face is twisted in a grimace of mad ferocity, and she hisses as she brandishes her makeshift weapons at you. “Play with me?” she growls.
Soft, yet sociopathic: white carnation, iris, orange blossom, poisonous pale white berries, and sugared cream.