Musk

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    ‘Tis the Voice of the Lobster Perfume Oil

    ‘Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
    ‘You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.’
    As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
    Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
    When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
    And will talk in contemptuous tones of the shark;
    But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
    His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.

    I passed by his garden and marked, with one eye,
    How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie:
    The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
    While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.
    When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
    Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
    While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
    And concluded the banquet by —

    A woody, musky-weird base glooping over with blackberry preserves, a twist of mandarin, strawberry juice, pulverized watermelon, and a handful of smushed gardenia petals.

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    Abe Sapien Perfume Oil

    A soft aquatic musk with kelp and juniper.

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    Aglaea Perfume Oil

    Splendour

    Three golden ambers, bright musk, peach wine and myrtle.

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    Agrat-Bat-Mahlaht Perfume Oil

    Amber, cream accord, white honey, apple blossom, skin musk, caramel, and teak.

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    All-Father Perfume Oil

    Wednesday guided his wolf—now a huge and charcoal-gray beast with green eyes—over to Shadow. Shadow’s mount caracoled away from it, and Shadow stroked its neck and told it not to be afraid. Its tiger tail swished, aggressively. It occurred to Shadow that there was another wolf, a twin to the one that Wednesday was riding, keeping pace with them in the sand dunes, just a moment out of sight.

    “Do you know me, Shadow?” said Wednesday. He rode his wolf with his head high. His right eye glittered and flashed, his left eye was dull. He wore a cloak with a deep, monklike cowl, and his face stared out from the shadows. “I told you I would tell you my names. This is what they call me. I am called Glad-of-War, Grim, Raider, and Third. I am One-Eyed. I am called Highest, and True-Guesser. I am Grimnir, and I am the Hooded One. I am All-Father, and I am Gondlir Wand-Bearer. I have as many names as there are winds, as many titles as there are ways to die. My ravens are Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory; my wolves are Freki and Geri; my horse is the gallows.” Two ghostly-gray ravens, like transparent skins of birds, landed on Wednesday’s shoulders, pushed their beaks into the side of Wednesday’s head as if tasting his mind, and flapped out into the world once more.

    Oak leaves and ash, honey mead, wolf musk, a flutter of black feathers, and bronze fennel.

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    Antony Perfume Oil

    The embodiment of Classic masculinity. A warrior’s scent: the green hills and grasses of the battlefields, the resinous incense from the prayers to his Gods, and a touch of the musky leather of his armor. Ambergris and frankincense with sage, and basil.

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    Ashlultum Perfume Oil

    Babylonian musk, vanilla tea, tonka, tobacco, coconut, hyssop, and lilac.

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    Ava Perfume Oil

    It’s always a bit weird with family. A scant two-hundred years old, there doesn’t seem to be anything that roots Ava to her past. Her scent is utterly contemporary, and, like her personality, it is impulsive, capricious, and dangerous. Voluptuous and brittle, lovely and toxic:  sheer vanilla musk with tuberose, red mandarin, and the sweet poison of white almond.

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  • Ave Maria Gratia Plena Perfume Oil

    Was this His coming! I had hoped to see
    A scene of wondrous glory, as was told
    Of some great God who in a rain of gold
    Broke open bars and fell on Danae:
    Or a dread vision as when Semele
    Sickening for love and unappeased desire
    Prayed to see God’s clear body, and the fire
    Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly:
    With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,
    And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand
    Before this supreme mystery of Love:
    Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face,
    An angel with a lily in his hand,
    And over both the white wings of a Dove.

    A pale, delicate, truly angelic blend. A scent created to emulate Adonis’ halo of beauty: fragile, distant, and radiant. Rosewood with Sicilian lemon peel, red Mysore sandalwood, pale musks, sweet mountain sage and a dusting of lily, night-blooming jasmine and orris.

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    Aziraphale Perfume Oil

    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.

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    Bawd Perfume Oil

    Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will
    You use him kindly? He will line your apron with
    Gold.

    Raucous red velvet musk, sweet patchouli, billowing peony, bourbon vanilla, and a cascade of red rose petals.

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    Becoming Thunder Perfume Oil

    “You got to understand the god thing. It’s not magic. It’s about being you, but the you that people believe in. It’s about being the concentrated, magnified, essence of you. It’s about becoming thunder, or the power of a running horse, or wisdom. You take all the belief and become bigger, cooler, more than human. You crystallize.”

    This is the scent of the absolute: this is the perfected manifestation of the absolute essence of not who you are, but what you represent to others. This is You as Symbol, your spirit separated and combined, distilled and condensed into one archetype. Skin musk and 20-year aged frankincense, a sprig of asphodel, a splash of soma, a lightning-streak of sharp ozone, and a stream of ambrosia.

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    Behind the Veils Perfume Oil

    Blood-red light cascades through languorous folds of sheer cloth. Hell-bright embers breathe into the gloom as billowing ribbons of thick, dark incense wrap their tendrils of smoke around your body like the curious hands of a lover.

    Heady red musk, myrrh and honey, drops of cinnamon and crushed cardamom pod, the taste of opium-laced black wine, sweet oudh, and threads of saffron.

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  • Bewitched Perfume Oil

    Deep, luscious green and berry scents that evoke images of woodland witchcraft and the raw power of nature: blackberry, sage, green tea, wild berries and dark musk.

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    Bilquis Perfume Oil

    The Queen of Sheba, half-demon, they said, on her father’s side, witch woman, wise woman, and queen, who ruled Sheba when Sheba was the richest land there ever was, when its spices and its gems and scented woods were taken by boat and camel-back to the corners of the earth, who was worshipped even when she was alive, worshipped as a living goddess by the wisest of kings, stands on the sidewalk of Sunset Boulevard at 2:00 A.M. staring blankly out at traffic like a slutty plastic bride on a black-and-neon wedding cake. She stands as if she owns the sidewalk and the night that surrounds her.

    Honey, myrrh, lily of the valley, rose otto, fig leaf, almond, ambrette, red apple, and warm musk.

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    Black Julbocken Alchemy Lab Perfume Oil

    Our winter mascot! A musky, snow-touched, forest-deep Yuletide blend: shaggy black wool and a slushy tangle of juniper, mistletoe, winter sage, spikenard, white moss, and terebinth.

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    Black Rose Perfume Oil

    Exquisitely melancholy. The background scent to an ancient exequies. Heavy, dark and floral: a blend of roses, with a touch of amber and musk.

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  • Blood Kiss

    Lush, creamy vanilla and the honey of the sweetest kiss smeared with the vital throb of husky clove, swollen red cherries, but darkened with the vampiric sensuality of vetiver, soporific poppy and blood red wine, and a skin-light pulse of feral musk.

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  • Brown Jenkin Perfume Oil

    The yellowed country records containing her testimony and that of her accusers were so damnably suggestive of things beyond human experience – and the descriptions of the darting little furry object which served as her familiar were so painfully realistic despite their incredible details.

    That object – no larger than a good-sized rat and quaintly called by the townspeople “Brown Jenkin – seemed to have been the fruit of a remarkable case of sympathetic herd-delusion, for in 1692 no less than eleven persons had testified to glimpsing it. There were recent rumours, too, with a baffling and disconcerting amount of agreement. Witnesses said it had long hair and the shape of a rat, but that its sharp-toothed, bearded face was evilly human while its paws were like tiny human hands. It took messages betwixt old Keziah and the devil, and was nursed on the witch’s blood, which it sucked like a vampire. Its voice was a kind of loathsome titter, and it could speak all languages. Of all the bizarre monstrosities in Gilman’s dreams, nothing filled him with greater panic and nausea than this blasphemous and diminutive hybrid, whose image flitted across his vision in a form a thousandfold more hateful than anything his waking mind had deduced from the ancient records and the modern whispers.

    A small, furry, sharp-toothed scent that will nuzzle you curiously in the black hours before dawn: dusty white sandalwood and orris root, dry coconut husk, creeping musk, and the residue of ceremonial incense.

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  • By Day She Made Herself into a Cat Perfume Oil

    Arthur Rackham

    A feral eyeshine of amber gleaming through a pool of ink-black musk.

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  • Calico Jack Perfume Oil

    Sea air, driftwood, waterlogged kelp, and the memory of plundered spices sprayed over worn leathers, rough musk, and the salty wooden floorboards of the Revenge.

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  • Captain Cully Perfume Oil

    “I’m merry twenty-four hours a day, Dick Fancy,” Cully said coldly. “That is a fact.”

    A cocky light musk with leather, tonka, a dusting of dry woods, and a splash of porter

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  • Chaotic Perfume Oil

    A whirling mélange of multicolored musks with wasabi, rooibos, heliotrope, and mastic.

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  • Coyote Perfume Oil

    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.

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    Croquet Perfume Oil

    ‘Get to your places!’ shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder, and people began running about in all directions, tumbling up against each other; however, they got settled down in a minute or two, and the game began. Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground in her life; it was all ridges and furrows; the balls were live hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers had to double themselves up and to stand on their hands and feet, to make the arches.

    The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo: she succeeded in getting its body tucked away, comfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but generally, just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out, and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it would twist itself round and look up in her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not help bursting out laughing: and when she had got its head down, and was going to begin again, it was very provoking to find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away: besides all this, there was generally a ridge or furrow in the way wherever she wanted to send the hedgehog to, and, as the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.

    We have some trouble managing our flamingos, too. Pink lime, pink grapefruit, white nectarine, wild rose, sage, woody patchouli, bergamot, and ornery hedgehog musk.

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    Crowley

    Nothing about him looked particularly demonic, at least by classical standards. No horns, no wings. Admittedly he was listening to a Best of Queen tape, but no conclusions should be drawn from this because all tapes left in a car for more than a fortnights metamorphose into Best of Queen albums. No particularly demonic thoughts were going through his head. In fact, he was wondering vaguely who Moey and Chandon were.

    Crowley had dark hair, and good cheekbones, and he was wearing snakeskin shoes, or at least presumably he was wearing shoes, and he could do really weird things with his tongue. And, whenever he forgot himself, he had a tendency to hiss.

    Infernal musk, red patchouli, lilac cologne, mahogany, lemon rind, oakmoss, leather, and vanilla husk.

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  • Czernobog Perfume Oil

    Created in honor of the Slavic Black God of the Dead. A nighttime god of grief, evil, chaos and woe, he is paralleled by his twin brother Bylebog, god of light, joy, order, and good fortune.

    A combination of three musks, with splashes of dark myrrh, vetiver and mullein.

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    Daiyu Perfume Oil

    Moroccan jasmine, chrysanthemum, tea leaf, white musk, and acai berry.

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    Diana Perfume Oil

    My temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,
    And do upon mine altar sacrifice.
    There, when my maiden priests are met together,
    before the people all,
    Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:
    To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter’s, call
    And give them repetition to the life.
    Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe;
    Do it, and happy; by my silver bow!

    Artemis, standing in her golden chariot… driving off with her fast-trotting deer over the hills and far away to some rich-scented sacrifice: leather, gleaming golden amber, red amaranth, cypress, asphodel accord, a gleam of silver, and soft brown musk.

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    Doc Constantine Perfume Oil

    As you pass the tiny stage, you come across a large canvas tent, illuminated within, the exterior dotted with odd splatters. In front of the tent stands a scorched wooden cart covered in a jumble of bottles, jars, vials and twisted steel implements, and an elaborate, gold-gilded sign reads:

    “Doc Constantine Cures What Ails Ye!
    Liniments, salves, potions and elixirs for every malady of the body and spirit!”

    A scream splits the air, jarring you. You see shadows move jaggedly within the tent, there is another scream, and all is suddenly still and silent. After a long heartbeat, the door flap opens. A man steps out wearing a crystal-eyed schnabel mask in the style of medieval plague doctors, carmine streaking his sleeves, vest, and the blonde hair that crowns him. He pulls off the mask, and you see a handsome figure, almost beatific. He rolls a cigarette, lights it, takes a deep pull, and winks at you slyly as he gestures at the multitude of concoctions he has for sale. A bent crone, her body as bowed and knotty as an ancient oak, shuffles up to the wagon with rosy-cheeked, tow-headed maiden following her at a small distance. As she approaches the doctor, the crone gestures at herself, running a gnarled hand down her body in a sweeping movement, and casting a sideways glance at her grandchild. Smiling an angel’s smile, Doc Constantine hands the old woman a potion the color of cold, congealed blood. She drinks it quickly, gasping. Before your eyes her body shimmers and blurs, and a shower of dark sparks seems to engulf her. Where the crone stood, there is now a voluptuous, raven-haired vixen, vibrant, sensual, at the prime of her life and sexual vitality. Her shriek of joy is interrupted by another’s scream of shock: the rigors of age have not vanished; they have moved aside, and the young woman has aged horribly, taking on the crone’s burden.

    Sheer musk, cedar smoke, fir needle, chaparral, black amber and leather.

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    Dorian

    The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.

    Inspired by and created for my beloved Tedwin: my eternal, beautiful, wicked Dorian Gray. Refined, elegant, and lovely, with a noble bearing and seemingly gentle air. This blend is an artful deception: a sweet gilded blossom lying over a twisted and corrupted core. A Victorian fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea.

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    Dorian Beard Oil

    The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.

    Inspired by and created for my beloved Tedwin: my eternal, beautiful, wicked Dorian Gray. Refined, elegant, and lovely, with a noble bearing and seemingly gentle air. This blend is an artful deception: a sweet gilded blossom lying over a twisted and corrupted core. A Victorian fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea.

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    Dreams Shape the World Perfume Oil

    Amorphous streams and sparks of lavender fancies drifting through a moonlit musk, given form on this plane by fossilized amber and sweet agarwood.

    Words by Neil Gaiman, art by David Mack.

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    Faiza, The Lady of Serpents Perfume Oil

    Upon the next stage, a primitive cage has been erected. It is made of heavy, dark sticks bound with strips of deep brown leather. The stage is as dark as pitch, and from the shadows, you hear soft hissing, spitting, and an ominous chorus of weird rattling sounds. You approach with some trepidation, and peer between the bars. Your attention is seized by writhing forms on the straw bottom of the cage. As your eyes adjust to the gloom, you realize that the floor is seething with serpents, dark and colorful, languid and large, swift and small. You hear a sultry chuckle, and you see bright, unblinking emerald eyes staring at you from the corner of the cage. A woman crawls through the snakes, her scaled body as sinuous and lissome as the creatures that share her home. She reaches towards you languorously with her sharp-clawed hands and sighs.

    A sensual blend of twisting, exotic, serpentine oils: black amber, oakmoss, green sandalwood, bergamot, jasmine sambac, gardenia, orange pulp, black cardamom, vanilla, blackberry, black musk, blackened vanilla husk, white honey, ti leaf, and ginger.

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  • Fighter Perfume Oil

    Leather, musk, blood, and steel.

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  • Good Perfume Oil

    Shimmering celestial musk with vanilla, white honey, acacia, and sugar cane.

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    Gwyneth Perfume Oil

    Rose otto, tonka, orchid, Calla lily, skin musk, coconut, and Spanish sage.

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    Gynotize! Perfume Oil

    A crash course in gynotism: cherry-slapped rose musk.

    Patented 3-D Gyno-Coin not included.

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  • Half-Elf Perfume Oil

    White sandalwood, beeswax, white tea leaf, oud, and a hint of sophisticated urban musk.

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    Harper Perfume Oil

    Pale bergamot, labdanum, white incense, vanilla-tinged musk, Burmese oudh and tea rose.

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  • Hecate Perfume Oil

    Magnificent three-faced Goddess of Magic, the Dark Moon and the Crossroads. She is the Mother of Witches, and the midnight baying of hounds is her paean. Her compassion is evidenced in her role as Psychopomp for Persephone, and her wrath manifests as Medea’s revenge.

    Deep, buttery almond layered over myrrh and dark musk.

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  • Hell’s Belle Perfume Oil

    Sweet, smokey and sensually wicked. A thick, steamy scent, truly sinister in its voluptuous sexuality. The perfume of a demon’s favored consort, or of the devil herself. Oleander with wet, sweet mandarin, lush magnolia, a rush of deep musk and a touch of spice.

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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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    Imp Pack: Musk Perfume Oil

    Bien Loin D’Ici
    Red musk, benzoin, caramel accord, golden honey, and spiced Moroccan unguents.

    Czernobog
    A combination of three musks, with splashes of dark myrrh, vetiver and mullein.

    Debauchery

    A sinful, licentious scent: self-indulgent and luxurious. Mingled heady civet and red Egyptian musk, thickened with opium.

    Fenris Wolf

    The raw, untamable power of chaos. Rosewood, amber, red musk and a dribble of red sandalwood.

    Horreur Sympathique
    Blood musk, golden honey, thick black wine, champagne grapes, tobacco flower, plum blossom, tonka bean, oakmoss, carnation, benzoin, opoponax, and sugar cane.

    Sed Non Satiata
    Myrrh, red patchouli, cognac, honey, and tuberose and geranium in a breathy, panting veil over the darkest body musk.

     

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    Inez Perfume Oil

    Golden amber, vanilla musk, myrrh, cedar, carnation, and red sandalwood.

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    Jiaolong Perfume Oil

    Sugared coffee bean, black musk, and sugar cane.

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    Judgmental Longhorn Perfume Oil

    He knows what you’ve been up to. Sweet tonka, smoked vanilla, benzoin, labdanum, amber, hay absolute, cacao absolute, and soft brown musk.

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  • Kali Perfume Oil

    Kali, the Black One, is the fearless Goddess of Destruction, Creation, Energy [in her Shakti aspect] and Dissolution. Also named Kaliratri [Black Night] and Kalikamata [Black Earth-Mother], she is the fiercest aspect of Devi, the supreme mother goddess. Kali is a protector Goddess, the destroyer of evil spirits and guardian of the faithful. She, along with her consort Shiva, represent the unending cycle of death and birth, sexual union, creation and destruction. Kali annihilates ignorance, maintains the natural order of the world, and blesses those who strive for spiritual awareness and knowledge of true holiness with infinite tenderness and motherly love. The constant, unending Work of Creation is called the “The Play of Kali”.

    This perfume is a blend of the sacred blooms of cassia, hibiscus, musk rose, Himalayan wild tulip, lotus and osmanthus swirled with offertory dark chocolate, red wine, tobacco, balsam and honey.

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    Knucklebones Perfume Oil

    You hear a clatter on the ground behind you, and a small bleached bone smacks against your foot. Cloaked in shadows between the tents, three men crouch playing knucklebones. Distress clouds the face of one of the men, while another bursts into a wicked smile and the last one sighs in relief. Scooping up his winnings and shaking his head, the victor makes a soft ‘tsk’ noise as he reaches towards the loser’s chest, positioning his hand over the man’s heart. Pressing forward, his hand moves through cloth, flesh, muscle, and bone to extract the beating organ. Tossing the heart onto the ground, he says to you, “Mind handing me those bones, buddy? I’ve got a game to run here.”

    Black musk, bay rum, lime fougere, orange blossom water, gin, and tobacco.

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    Lady Una Perfume Oil

    “Why, you are crying.”

    She said nothing. Dunstan pulled her toward him, wiping ineffectually at her face with his big hand; and then he leaned into her sobbing face, and, tentatively, uncertain of whether or not he was doing the correct thing given the circumstances, he kissed her, full upon the burning lips.

    There was a moment of hesitation, and then her mouth opened against his, and her tongue slid into his mouth, and he was, under the strange stars, utterly, irrevocably, lost.

    Honey musk, green tea leaf, blackberry leaf, vanilla bean, and fae spices.

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  • Lampades Perfume Oil

    The Lampades are the darkly beautiful nymphs of the underworld, also called the Lethe Nymphae Avernales. They are the daughters of the Gods that govern the many rivers of Hades. The Lampades are Hecate’s torch-bearers and accompany the Goddess on her hunts, quests and revels. Their scent is the crisp, inviting bittersweet tang of cranberry with smoky dark lilies, heady, sensual musk, a tingle of ginger and a brush of Mediterranean spices.

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  • Les Bijoux Perfume Oil

    My well-beloved was stripped. Knowing my whim,
    She wore her tinkling gems, but naught besides:
    And showed such pride as, while her luck betides,
    A sultan’s favored slave may show to him.

    When it lets off its lively, crackling sound,
    This blazing blend of metal crossed with stone
    Gives me an ecstasy I’ve only known
    Where league of sound and lustre can be found.

    She let herself be loved: then, drowsy-eyed,
    Smiled down from her high couch in languid ease.
    My love was deep and gentle as the seas
    And rose to her as to a cliff the tide.

    My own approval of each dreamy pose,
    Like a tamed tiger, cunningly she sighted:
    And candour, with lubricity united,
    Gave piquancy to every one she chose.

    Her limbs and hips, burnished with changing lustres
    Before my eyes, clairvoyant and serene,
    Swanned themselves, undulating in their sheen;
    Her breasts and belly, of my vine the clusters,

    Like evil angels rose, my fancy twitting,
    To kill the peace which over me she’d thrown,
    And to disturb her from the crystal throne
    Where, calm and solitary, she was sitting.

    So swerved her pelvis that, in one design,
    Antiope’s white rump it seemed to graft
    To a boy’s torso, merging fore and aft.
    The talc on her brown tan seemed half-divine.

    The lamp resigned its dying flame. Within,
    The hearth alone lit up the darkened air,
    And every time it sighed a crimson flare
    It drowned in blood that amber-coloured skin.

    Skin musk and honey, blood-red rose, orange blossom, white peach, red apple, frankincense and myrrh.

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  • Lurid Perfume Oil

    Shocking, horrific, fierce, savage, sensationalized, luminous and hazy: black currant, Bulgarian lavender and white musk with a dollop of thick resin and a voltaic charge of ozone notes.

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    Lyonesse Perfume Oil

    Then rose the King and moved his host by night
    And ever pushed Sir Mordred, league by league,
    Back to the sunset bound of Lyonesse —
    A land of old upheaven from the abyss
    By fire, to sink into the abyss again;
    Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
    And the long mountains ended in a coast
    Of ever-shifting sand, and far away
    The phantom circle of a moaning sea.

    Golden vanilla and gilded musk, stargazer lily, white sandalwood, grey amber, elemi, orris root, ambergris and sea moss.

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  • Mage Perfume Oil

    All mystique and thrumming power: gurjum balsam, Sumatran dragon’s blood resin, olibanum, galangal, oleo gum resin, and frankincense.

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    Marcilla Perfume Oil

    Blue lilac, lily of the valley, golden musk, beeswax, white ginger, bergamot, green tea, and nectarine.

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    Marian Perfume Oil

    I don’t belong here.

    A respectable, virtuous vintage musk smeared with blood and spiked with the coppery scent of fear.

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    Marianne Perfume Oil

    Red musk, bergamot, black currant, mimosa, orchid, patchouli, and lotus root.

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    Marina Perfume Oil

    When I was born:
    Never was waves nor wind more violent.

    A waving wet haze of blue and green: blackberry wine and soft oudh, cashmere woods, iris pallida, sea salt, and turquoise musk.

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  • Mary Read Perfume Oil

    Salt air, ocean mist, aged patchouli, sarsaparilla, watered-down rum, leather-tinged musk, and a spray of gunpowder.

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    Miss Forcible Perfume Oil

    Miss Spink and Miss Forcible lived in the flat below Coraline’s, on the ground floor. They were both old and round, and they lived in their flat with a number of ageing Highland terriers who had names like Hamish and Andrew and Jock. Once upon a time Miss Spink and Miss Forcible had been actresses, as Miss Spink told Coraline the first time she met her.

    “You see, Caroline,” Miss Spink said, getting Coraline’s name wrong, “both myself and Miss Forcible were famous actresses, in our time. We trod the boards, luvvy. Oh, don’t let Hamish eat the fruitcake, or he’ll be up all night with his tummy.”

    A classic vintage musk.

    Both Miss Spink and Miss Forcible scents have a bit of tea splash and biscuit crumbs.

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    Miss Lupescu Perfume Oil

    “Bod,” said Silas. “This is Miss Lupescu.”

    Miss Lupescu was not pretty. Her face was pinched and her expression was disapproving. Her hair was grey, although her face seemed too young for grey hair. Her front teeth were slightly crooked. She wore a bulky mackintosh, and a man’s tie around her neck.

    “How do you do, Miss Lupescu?” said Bod.

    Miss Lupescu said nothing. She sniffed. Then she looked at Silas and said, “So. This is the boy.” She got up from her seat and walked all around Bod, nostrils flared, as if she were sniffing him. When she had made a complete circuit, she said, “You will report to me on waking, and before you go to sleep. I have rented a room in a house over there.” She pointed to a roof just visible from where they stood. “However, I shall spend my time in this graveyard. I am here as a historian, researching the history of old graves. You understand, boy? Da?”

    “Bod,” said Bod. “It’s Bod. Not boy.”

    “Short for Nobody,” she said. “A foolish name. Also, Bod is a pet name. A nickname. I do not approve. I will call you ‘boy’. You will call me ‘Miss Lupescu’.”

    Bod looked up at Silas, pleadingly, but there was no sympathy on Silas’s face. He picked up his bag and said, “You will be in good hands with Miss Lupescu, Bod. I am sure that the two of you will get on.”

    “We won’t!” said Bod. “She’s horrible!”

    “That,” said Silas, “Was a very rude thing to say. I think you should apologise, don’t you?”

    Bod didn’t, but Silas was looking at him and he was carrying his black bag, and about to leave for no-one knew how long, so he said, “I’m sorry Miss Lupescu.”

    At first she said nothing in reply. She merely sniffed. Then she said, “I have come a long way to look after you, boy. I hope you are worth it.”

    Animalic musk, with amber, patchouli, ho wood, cypress, almond blossom, golden sandalwood, and strange spices.

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  • Morocco

    The intoxicating perfume of heady incenses wafting on warm desert breezes. Arabian spices wind through a blend of warm musk, carnation, red sandalwood and cassia.

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    Morocco Bath Oil

    The intoxicating perfume of heady incenses wafting on warm desert breezes. Arabian spices wind through a blend of warm musk, carnation, red sandalwood and cassia.

    4oz Bottle

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  • Moscow Perfume Oil

    A rich, bold blend of imperial rose, carnation, lush jasmine, lily of the valley, dark musk, amber, bergamot and gilded tangerine.

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    My Country Perfume Oil

    I love a sunburnt country,
    A land of sweeping plains,
    Of ragged mountain ranges,
    Of droughts and flooding rains.
    I love her far horizons,
    I love her jewel-sea,
    Her beauty and her terror
    The wide brown land for me!

    – Dorothea Mackellar

    Her far horizons, her jewel-sea: a rose-tinted sunset of amber salt spray azure musk.

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  • Odin Perfume Oil

    Odin is highest and eldest of the Æsir: he rules all things, and mighty as are the other gods, they all serve him as children obey a father.

    The All-Father, Lord of Wisdom and War. Odin’s name itself translates to “fury”, “excitation” and “poetry” and that is the core of His essence. He is the God of Victory, and holds sway over hunting, verse, war-lust and berserkers, magic, illumination, foresight, death, plots and machinations, and He dispenses the Mead of Inspiration to poets from his sacred vessel, Óõ-rœri. He gifted mankind with runes, both sacred and mundane, and the ability to use them for both communication and magical work. He grants glory and madness, inspiration and courage, power and wisdom. He commands the einheriar of his Hall, Valhalla, and the Valkyries that claim the souls of valiant warriors. Lord Odin’s favored weapon is the spear Gugnir, which he uses to claim those chosen to die in battle. He is accompanied by his ravens, Hugin and Munin [thought and memory], and his wolves, Geri and Freki [the Greedy], and rides an eight-legged horse, Sleipner, that is, in itself, symbolic of death. His scent is dry elm bark, amaranth, warrior’s musk, and Odin’s Nine Herbs of Power.

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  • Orc Perfume Oil

    Field grey courgette musk, roughly cured leather, and vetiver.

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    Parthenope Perfume Oil

    Honeysuckle, orris, moss, musk, benzoin, oakmoss, and star jasmine.

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  • Portrait of Magdaleine Pinceloup de la Grange née de Parseval Perfume Oil

    Jean-Baptiste Perronneau

    An aristocratic 18th century French perfume dabbed on lilac velvet, gently purring with soft grey amber and feline musk, and tinkling with tiny golden bells. Grasse jasmine and rose otto nestled in ambergris accord, frankincense, white sandalwood, bourbon vanilla, cardamom, amber, coriander, and galbanum.

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    Sanctus Perfume Oil

    The Sanctus are considered by some pious vampires to be the saints of their kind, and from what we have gleaned, they are very likely the stuff of myth. These vampires are paragons that possess impossible, phenomenal powers that defy known physics, including the ability to shift shape, turn into a gaseous form, and command other vampires through will alone. The mythological Sanctus are venerated by some, but we have no evidence whatsoever that they truly exist.

    Diabolically otherworldly: golden osmanthus, lily of the valley, celestial musk, and frankincense.

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    Sara Pezzini Perfume Oil

    A hint of leather and an understated vintage musk layered over the scent of lightly perspiring, honey-dusted skin.

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    Screeching Revenant Hair Gloss

    Icy blue musk, eucalyptus, white pine, and opoponax.

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    Sed Non Satiata Perfume Oil

    Strange goddess, brown as evening to the sight,
    Whose scent is half of musk, half of havanah,
    Work of some obi, Faust of the Savanah,
    Ebony witch, and daughter of the night.

    By far preferred to troth, or opium, or sleep,
    Love vaunts the red elixir of your mouth.
    My caravan of longings seeks in drouth
    Your eyes, the wells at which my cares drink deep.

    Through those black eyes, by which your soul respires,
    Pitiless demon! pour less scorching fires.
    I am no Styx nine times with flame to wed.

    Nor can I turn myself to Proserpine
    To break your spell, Megera libertine!
    Within the dark inferno of your bed.

    A pounding heartbeat coalesced into scent: demonic passion and brutal sexuality manifested through myrrh, red patchouli, cognac, honey, and tuberose and geranium in a breathy, panting veil over the darkest body musk.

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  • Shoggoth Perfume Oil

    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.

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  • smut

    Smut Perfume Oil

    We are the smuttiest. Three swarthy, smutty musks sweetened with sugar and woozy with dark booze notes.

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    Take the Moon Perfume Oil

    She held his hand, with a hand that was icy cold. “You were given protection once. You were given the sun itself. But you lost it already. You gave it away. All I can give you is much weaker protection. The daughter, not the father. But all helps. Yes?” Her white hair blew about her face in the chilly wind.

    “Do I have to fight you? Or play checkers?” he asked.

    “You do not even have to kiss me,” she told him. “Just take the moon from me.”

    “How?”

    “Take the moon.”

    “I don’t understand.”

    “Watch,” said Zorya Polunochnaya. She raised her left hand and held it in front of the moon, so that her forefinger and thumb seemed to be grasping it. Then, in one smooth movement, she plucked at it. For a moment, it looked like she had taken the moon from the sky, but then Shadow saw that the moon shone still, and Zorya Polunochnaya opened her hand to display a silver Liberty-head dollar resting between finger and thumb.

    “That was beautifully done,” said Shadow. “I didn’t see you palm it. And I don’t know how you did that last bit.”

    “I did not palm it,” she said. “I took it. And now I give it you, to keep safe. Here. Don’t give this one away.”

    Silvered musk and lemon peel, white fir needle, frosted apple blossom, and mugwort.

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    Thanatopsis Perfume Oil

    A meditation upon death. Inspired by William Cullen Bryant’s poem.

    A deep, solomn earthen scent containing pine, juniper and musk.

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    The Buffalo Man Perfume Oil

    Darkness; a sensation of falling—as if he were tumbling down a great hole, like Alice. He fell for a hundred years into darkness. Faces passed him, swimming out of the black, then each face was ripped up and away before he could touch it . . .

    Abruptly, and without transition, he was not falling. Now he was in a cave, and he was no longer alone. Shadow stared into familiar eyes: huge, liquid black eyes. They blinked.

    Under the earth: yes. He remembered this place. The stink of wet cow. Firelight flickered on the wet cave walls, illuminating the buffalo head, the man’s body, skin the color of brick clay.

    “Can’t you people leave me be?” asked Shadow. “I just want to sleep.”

    The buffalo man nodded, slowly. His lips did not move, but a voice in Shadow’s head said, “Where are you going, Shadow?”

    “Cairo.”

    “Why?”

    “Where else have I got to go? It’s where Wednesday wants me to go. I drank his mead.” In Shadow’s dream, with the power of dream logic behind it, the obligation seemed unarguable: he drank Wednesday’s mead three times, and sealed the pact—what other choice of action did he have?

    The buffalo-headed man reached a hand into the fire, stirring the embers and the broken branches into a blaze. “The storm is coming,” he said. Now there was ash on his hands, and he wiped it onto his hairless chest, leaving soot-black streaks.

    “So you people keep telling me. Can I ask you a question?”

    There was a pause. A fly settled on the furry forehead. The buffalo man flicked it away. “Ask.”

    “Is this true? Are these people really gods? It’s all so . . .” He paused. Then he said, “impossible,” which was not exactly the word he had been going for but seemed to be the best he could do.

    “What are gods?” asked the buffalo man.

    “I don’t know,” said Shadow.

    Warm dark brown musk, woodsmoke, and deep pools of labdanum.

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    The Grindhouse Perfume Oil

    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.

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    The Illustrated Woman Perfume Oil

    Skin musk, smoky vanilla, pine pitch, patchouli, Indian resins, golden honey, and tobacco.

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  • The Lady of Shalott Perfume Oil

    Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
    Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
    Till her blood was frozen slowly,
    And her eyes were darkened wholly,
    Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.
    For ere she reach’d upon the tide
    The first house by the water-side,
    Singing in her song she died,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    The scent of calm waters just before a raging storm, limned with achingly-beautiful blooms, an icy scent, but somehow warm, and mirror-bright: bold gardenia, crystalline musk, muguet, water blossoms, clear, slightly tart aquatic notes and a crush of white ginger.

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  • THE PICTURE OF DORIAN SUFGANIYOT

    The Picture of Dorian Sufganiyot Perfume Oil

    It has mysteriously stayed fresh for decades… but you REALLY don’t want to see the pastry in the attic.

     

    A deep-fried fougere with three pale musks and dark, sugared vanilla tea.

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  • The Raven Perfume Oil

    Sleek, dark, and ominous. Violet and neroli mingled with iris, white sandalwood and dark musk.

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    The Silver Dollar Perfume Oil

    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.

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    The Torture Queen Perfume Oil

    White amber, vanilla musk, white tea, ambergris, gardenia, and chrome.

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    The Velvets Perfume Oil

    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.

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    Three Rounds, One Fall, No Submission Perfume Oil

    Crowley thumped the wheel. Everything had been going so well, he’d had it really under his thumb these few centuries. That’s how it goes, you think you’re on top of the world, and suddenly they spring Armageddon on you. The Great War, the Last Battle. Heaven versus Hell, three rounds, one Fall, no submission. And that’d be that. No more world. That’s what the end of the world meant. No more world. Just endless Heaven or, depending who won, endless Hell. Crowley didn’t know which was worse.

    Well, Hell was worse, of course, by definition. But Crowley remembered what Heaven was like, and it had quite a few things in common with Hell. You couldn’t get a decent drink in either of them, for a start. And the boredom you got in Heaven was almost as bad as the excitement you got in Hell.

    Beatific gardenia, virtuous lemon flower, and sacred frankincense clashing with infernal musk, a burst of sulphur, and a little bit of hellfire.

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  • Troll Perfume Oil

    They call me Troll;
    Gnawer of the Moon,
    Giant of the Gale-blasts,
    Curse of the rain-hall,
    Companion of the Sibyl,
    Nightroaming hag,
    Swallower of the loaf of heaven.
    What is a Troll but that?

    A lurching, hateful, bitter scent. This is a gruesome blend of ghastly greens and blacks: vetiver, pine pitch, troll musk, black basil, clove smoke, and scorched cumin.

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    Vasilissa Perfume Oil

    “Take it, then,” the Tsar said, “and bid her do it for me.” The old woman brought the linen home and told Vasilissa the Tsar’s command: “Well I knew that the work would needs be done by my own hands,” said Vasilissa, and, locking herself in her own room, began to make the shirts. So fast and well did she work that soon a dozen were ready. Then the old woman carried them to the Tsar, while Vasilissa washed her face, dressed her hair, put on her best gown and sat down at the window to see what would happen. And presently a servant in the livery of the Palace came to the house and entering, said: “The Tsar, our lord, desires himself to see the clever needlewoman who has made his shirts and to reward her with his own hands.”

    Vasilissa rose and went at once to the Palace, and as soon as the Tsar saw her, he fell in love with her with all his soul. He took her by her white hand and made her sit beside him. “Beautiful maiden,” he said, “never will I part from thee and thou shalt be my wife.”

    So the Tsar and Vasilissa the Beautiful were married, and her father returned from the far-distant Tsardom, and he and the old woman lived always with her in the splendid Palace, in all joy and contentment. And as for the little wooden doll, she carried it about with her in her pocket all her life long.

    She herself had cheeks like blood and milk and grew every day more and more beautiful.

    Creamy skin musk and blushing pink musk with soft sandalwood, white amber, dutiful myrrh, and star jasmine.

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    Victoria Perfume Oil

    Every boy in the village was in love with Victoria Forester. And many a sedate gentleman, quietly married with grey in his beard, would stare at her as she walked down the street, becoming, for a few moments, a boy once more, in the spring of his years with a spring in his step.

    Graceful vanilla musk, tea rose, and stargazer lily.

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  • Villain

    Villain

    A classic Victorian men’s cologne: a lavender fougere, with hints of lilac, lime, and citrus musk.

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    Villain Beard Oil

    A classic Victorian cologne: lavender fougere, with hints of lilac, lime, and citrus musk.

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    Violens Perfume Oil

    Rugged and understated: five sandalwoods, dusty leather, and light musk.

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  • Wanda Perfume Oil

    “And yet a restless, always unsatisfied craving for the nudity of paganism,” she interrupted, “but that love, which is the highest joy, which is divine simplicity itself, is not for you moderns, you children of reflection. It works only evil in you. As soon as you wish to be natural, you become common. To you nature seems something hostile; you have made devils out of the smiling gods of Greece, and out of me a demon. You can only exorcise and curse me, or slay yourselves in bacchantic madness before my altar. And if ever one of you has had the courage to kiss my red mouth, he makes a barefoot pilgrimage to Rome in penitential robes and expects flowers to grow from his withered staff, while under my feet roses, violets, and myrtles spring up every hour, but their fragrance does not agree with you. Stay among your northern fogs and Christian incense; let us pagans remain under the debris, beneath the lava; do not disinter us. Pompeii was not built for you, nor our villas, our baths, our temples. You do not require gods. We are chilled in your world.”

    Along with Loviatar, she has become something of a Patron Goddess of all Dominatrixes, Wanda is the breathtakingly beautiful sable-wrapped marble queen of Sacher-Masoch’s fantasies. Her scent is a deep red merlot with a faint hint of leather, sexual musk and body heat over crushed roses, violets and myrtle.

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    We Cared About Such Different Things Perfume Oil

    “I have a brother. They say, you put us together, we are like one person, you know? When we are young, his hair, it is very blond, very light, his eyes are blue, and people say, he is the good one. And my hair it is very dark, darker than yours even, and people say I am the rogue, you know? I am the bad one. And now time passes, and my hair is gray. His hair, too, I think, is gray. And you look at us, you would not know who was light, who was dark.”

    “Were you close?” asked Shadow.

    “Close?” asked Czernobog. “No. How could we be? We cared about such different things.”

    You would not know who was light, who was dark: iron and amber, gold-limned white musk and ink-gloomed dark musk.

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    Wulric, The Wolfman Perfume Oil

    A lively tune is being played nearby; it is syncopated, a disjointed song, but perky and upbeat. As you turn to the next stage, you see the broad back and shaggy hair of the next performer. He is seated on a stool in front of a battered upright piano. Wire pokes out from holes in the back of the decrepit beechwood, and broken pinblocks are scattered on the floor. A bowl of glistening viscera has been plopped on a small end table next to the pianist. You can see that the ivory keys of the piano are smeared with blood. He pounds and tinkles the keys merrily, and laughs to himself. The man turns to the audience, and his unkempt russet hair, feral yellow eyes, wild balbo, and chin curtain beard betray his lycanthropic nature. He smiles widely, innocently, and waves his red-stained, black-clawed paw in a genial welcome. He bellows cheerfully, “Hi there! Make yourself comfortable! Don’t you look absolutely necrolishious! HA! HAHA! I just made that word up!” He laughs again, turns, and resumes playing the piano. The rambling tune picks up pace, and he plays with a showman’s flourish. The song slows as he chats with the audience from over his shoulder. “You know, my ex-girlfriend was a real handful, but really… I’ve never known a woman that was as tender as she was. She was all gushy, and well… to be honest, she just fell to pieces for me. Eventually, things ran their course… three courses, really… and, as they say, nothing lasts forever. But I’ll always have a piece of her, here… close to my heart.” He chuckles, and pats the chest of his patchwork overcoat.

    In the distance, possibly from Meskhenet’s stage, you hear one of the phantom musicians give Wulric a gratuitous rim shot.

    Friendly, charming, and cuddly, but possessing one hell of a mean streak: cocoa absolute, French vanilla, birch tar, lavender, bourbon vetiver, wild musk, cardamom husk, clary sage, and cistus.

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