Patchouli

  • A Countenance Forboding Evil

    Thy gloomy features, like a midnight dial,
    Scowl the dark index of a fearful hour.

    Patchouli, ylang ylang, blood orange, and vetiver.

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  • A Savage Veil, Severe and Strong

    Black plum, 7-year aged patchouli, nutmeg, and tobacco leaf.

    Proceeds from the sale of both of the Hymn to the Erinyes scents benefit RAINN, the United States’ largest anti-sexual violence organization. RAINN operates the National Sexual Assault Hotline, and provides programs to help survivors, prevent sexual violence, and ensure that offenders are brought to justice.

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  • A Young Boy and His Brother Seated on a Goat

    Christoffel Pierson

    Polished mahogany, copal resin, Java sandalwood, teakwood, and Sumatran patchouli.

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  • Al-Shairan

    The enemy of God, also named Iblis, He Who Despaired of the Mercy of God. Al-Shairan is the leader of the Jinn, a tempter who whispers false suggestions to men enticing them into evil and perfidious acts, and is the sworn enemy of all of Adam’s children.

    His scent is fiery, bright and thick with sweet sinfulness: clove, peach and orange with cinnamon, patchouli and dark incense notes.

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  • Alice, The Reaper of Cruelty

    Bourbon geranium emboldened by the rich scent of aged patchouli, the sweetness of peach, raspberry leaf, and bourbon vanilla, surrounded by a butterfly swarm of spicy carnation and Italian bergamot.

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  • Anteros

    When he is with the lover, both cease from their pain, but when he is away then he longs as he is longed for, and has love’s image, Anteros lodging in his breast, which he calls and believes to be not love but friendship only, and his desire is as the desire of the other, but weaker; he wants to see him, touch him, kiss him, embrace him, and probably not long afterwards his desire is accomplished.

    The God of Love Returned and avenger of unrequited love, Anteros is Eros’ brother – one of the Twin Cupids – and was given to Eros by his mother, for without reciprocal affection, love will wither. He wields lead arrows and a hammer of gold, and he wields his weapons to inspire mutual ardor and smite those who spurn love. His scent pierces the heart with glimmering shards of rapture and the sweet ache of passion: throbbing red musk and shimmering chypre with saffron, sweet patchouli, Italian bergamot, red currant, and vanilla bean.

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  • Arachnina, The Spider Girl

    You move towards the first stage on your right, and as you walk, you feel something brush across your cheek. Something about the softness of the phantom caress makes your skin crawl, and you flinch involuntarily. At that moment, the Spider Girl strides haughtily onto the platform, her stiletto heels clicking a strange staccato as she walks. Her body is wrapped in skin-tight strips of black PVC, and the gleaming vinyl glistens in stark contrast to the alabaster skin on her six pale, white arms. She gestures to the rafters above with a graceful flick of her blood-red nails. In dread, your eyes are drawn skyward: above her, in a gossamer snare, web-shrouded bodies twist and struggle.

    A swirling, hypnotic perfume of black currant, poppy, red and black musk, lilies, nicotiana, tobacco tar, and patchouli.

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  • Aristocratic Prostitutes in Languid Repose

    Poppy smoke, velvet jasmine, sweet three-year aged patchouli, and black plum.

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  • Ask the Nearest Hippie

    Obergefell vs Hodges

    Who ever thought that intimacy and spirituality [whatever that means] were freedoms? And if intimacy is, one would think Freedom of Intimacy is abridged rather than expanded by marriage. Ask the nearest hippie.

    An olfactory guide, created to assist you in locating nearby hippies: patchouli, hemp, smoky vanilla bean, and cannabis accord.

    (No, there is no actual weed in this perfume, silly.)

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  • Avenger

    Inspired by the character CHRISTINE SPAR.
    A fashionable and fiery journalist who adopts the Grendel persona to avenge the death of her only child and is consumed by the dark identity.

    Plush vanilla bourbon and rum accord with pink pepper, patchouli, clove, pikaki, golden amber, caraway, tuberose, and jacarandá-da-bahia.

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  • Baba Yaga

    Then suddenly the wood became full of a terrible noise; the trees began to groan, the branches to creak and the dry leaves to rustle, and the Baba Yaga came flying from the forest. She was riding in a great iron mortar and driving it with the pestle, and as she came she swept away her trail behind her with a kitchen broom.

    Spell-soaked herbs and flowers, cold iron, broom twigs, bundles of moss and patchouli root, and moth dust.

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  • BLACKLIGHT-REACTIVE POSTER

    There was a store about a mile away from the house I grew up in that fascinated me throughout my whole childhood. The façade was painted in insane colors, and it was covered with weird, leering cartoonish illustrations. We drove by it almost every week, and I’d keep asking my parents what was inside – there was nothing on the storefront that indicated what the store was about – and they’d blow me off while making it implicitly clear that I was to never, ever enter that building.

    When I was 12, I asked my parents to take me to the library so I could study. I waited about fifteen minutes to make sure that my dad had driven off, and then I walked over to the fascinating, forbidden mystery store.

    The store was covered, wall-to-wall, in posters that glowed in garish fluorescent colors. Tie-dyed t-shirts, blankets, and flags were everywhere, and the cases were filled with what looked to me like endless rows of genie bottles. Peace signs were everywhere, and tons of merchandise was emblazoned with a plant I didn’t recognize.

    Before they shooed me out – very kindly – this was the scent that imprinted on me: nag champa, patchouli, and weed smoke.

    – – –

    Please do not smoke, eat, or huff this oil. Do not rub it on your gums, do not put it on your privates, do not vape it. It is a perfume and meant to be used as such. No funnybusiness!

    (This perfume contains no actual weed. Zero cannabis. None. Zilch. What do I look like? A dispensary?)

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  • Blóðughadda

    Crushed Baltic amber, golden fig, oud wood, red patchouli, white clove, and saffron.

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  • Brangwy

    Blackcurrant and cardamom with peru balsam, patchouli, leather, and oudh.

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  • Bruised Violet Compound

    Promotes vigor in undeath and relieves the discomforts and complaints so common to incorporeal spirits! The learned and eminent scholar Alessandro Cagliastro once remarked “Long experience has taught me to prize Doctor Constantine’s Compounds above all others!”

    Crushed violets, red currant, patchouli root and spanish moss.

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  • Burial

    The Dark Side of Earth: deep, brooding forest scents, including juniper and patchouli. The scent of upturned cemetery loam mingling with floral offerings to the dead.

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  • But Men Loved Darkness Rather Than Light

    The world’s light shines, shine as it will,
    The world will love its darkness still.
    I doubt though when the world’s in hell,
    It will not love its darkness half so well.

    The world will love its darkness: cistus labdanum, ginger, East Indian patchouli, pimento berry, oakmoss, saffron, smoky vanilla, sage, myrrh, and bitter clove.

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  • Caterpillar

    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.

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  • Clémence

    Patchouli, Kashmiri tea, cardamom, black pepper, carnation, and clove.

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  • Couple Enjoying a Summer Breeze

    White sage and patchouli with Himalayan cedarwood, sweet labdanum, and brown sugar.

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  • Croquet

    ‘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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  • Cytherea

    White sandalwood, patchouli, white amber, orris, bourbon vanilla, champaca flower, and kush.

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  • Dalliances by Candlelight

    Beeswax, white patchouli, and honey.

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  • Dance of Death

    Carrying bouquet, and handkerchief, and gloves,
    Proud of her height as when she lived, she moves
    With all the careless and high-stepping grace,
    And the extravagant courtesan’s thin face.

    Was slimmer waist e’er in a ball-room wooed?
    Her floating robe, in royal amplitude,
    Falls in deep folds around a dry foot, shod
    With a bright flower-like shoe that gems the sod.

    The swarms that hum about her collar-bones
    As the lascivious streams caress the stones,
    Conceal from every scornful jest that flies,
    Her gloomy beauty; and her fathomless eyes

    Are made of shade and void; with flowery sprays
    Her skull is wreathed artistically, and sways,
    Feeble and weak, on her frail vertebrae.
    O charm of nothing decked in folly! they

    Who laugh and name you a Caricature,
    They see not, they whom flesh and blood allure,
    The nameless grace of every bleached, bare bone,
    That is most dear to me, tall skeleton!

    Come you to trouble with your potent sneer
    The feast of Life! or are you driven here,
    To Pleasure’s Sabbath, by dead lusts that stir
    And goad your moving corpse on with a spur?

    Or do you hope, when sing the violins,
    And the pale candle-flame lights up our sins,
    To drive some mocking nightmare far apart,
    And cool the flame hell lighted in your heart?

    Fathomless well of fault and foolishness!
    Eternal alembic of antique distress!
    Still o’er the curved, white trellis of your sides
    The sateless, wandering serpent curls and glides.

    And truth to tell, I fear lest you should find,
    Among us here, no lover to your mind;
    Which of these hearts beat for the smile you gave?
    The charms of horror please none but the brave.

    Your eyes’ black gulf, where awful broodings stir,
    Brings giddiness; the prudent reveller
    Sees, while a horror grips him from beneath,
    The eternal smile of thirty-two white teeth.

    For he who has not folded in his arms
    A skeleton, nor fed on graveyard charms,
    Recks not of furbelow, or paint, or scent,
    When Horror comes the way that Beauty went.

    O irresistible, with fleshless face,
    Say to these dancers in their dazzled race:
    “Proud lovers with the paint above your bones,
    Ye shall taste death, musk scented skeletons!

    Withered Antinoüs, dandies with plump faces,
    Ye varnished cadavers, and grey Lovelaces,
    Ye go to lands unknown and void of breath,
    Drawn by the rumour of the Dance of Death.

    From Seine’s cold quays to Ganges’ burning stream,
    The mortal troupes dance onward in a dream;
    They do not see, within the opened sky,
    The Angel’s sinister trumpet raised on high.

    In every clime and under every sun,
    Death laughs at ye, mad mortals, as ye run;
    And oft perfumes herself with myrrh, like ye
    And mingles with your madness, irony!

    A gloriously elegant representation of Lady Death. Dry, bone-white orris, black musk, serpentine patchouli and our murkiest myrrh.

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  • Dawn: Priestess

    Damascus rose, jasmine, myrrh, opoponax, white sage, and patchouli.

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  • Dead for Filth

    From the ooky spooky mind of horror personality and screenwriter, Michael Varrati, comes the REVRY Original Podcast DEAD FOR FILTH, for all things queer horror and beyond. Dead For Filth brings you the best queer & horror icons out of the closet and into the night to talk about the genre they love.

    Listen to DEAD FOR FILTH on REVRY, iTunes or SoundCloud.

    Raw Patchouli, opoponax, and a coppery dry blood exhale.

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  • Death on a Pale Horse

    And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

    The End of All Things: empty white musk and mint seeped with solemn lavender, doleful patchouli and vetiver, scythe-sharp yuzu and lime, with geranium bourbon, white sandalwood and calla lily.

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  • Depraved

    A salacious, lecherous, leering scent – dirty and dark, slapped with a wet sweetness. Earthy black patchouli swelling with apricot.

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  • Desire

    The overwhelming agony of passion crystallized into a singularly dark and magnetic blend: bittersweet neroli, black patchouli and black musk, gilded by apple, bergamot, blood red rose, teak, and vanilla.

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  • Deuteronomy 10:18

    He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing.

    Hay absolute, patchouli, agarwood, and vetiver.

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  • Dionysia

    Wild plum, pomegranate, raspberry, Siamese benzoin, plum blossom, patchouli, frankincense, and mahogany.

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  • Earth Dog

    A new year's blessing! Peony, China's national flower, with bamboo for flexibility, plum blossom for perseverance, courage, and hope, tangerine for wealth, red sandalwood and blue lotus for purity, orange for happiness, lychee for household peace, pine resin for constancy, golden kumquat for prosperity, red mandarin for good fortune, peach blossom for longevity, a touch of patchouli to bring it all down to earth, with a splash of blazing red of dragon's blood… to help you scare away the rampaging Nian.

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  • Een Satyr

    Jacob Jordaens

    A heavy, animalic musk with cognac, fir balsam, grapevine, black cypress, patchouli, honey, and copaiba balsam.

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  • Eisheth Zenunim

    Honey, ambergris, neroli, white peach, patchouli, and cocoa absolute.

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  • Elli’s Song

    “Most shows,” said Rukh after a time, “would end here, for what could they possibly present after a genuine unicorn? But Mommy Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival holds one more mystery yet – a demon more destructive than the dragon, more monstrous than the manticore, more hideous than the harpy, and certainly more universal than the unicorn.” He waved his hand toward the last wagon and the black hangings began to wriggle open, though there was no one pulling them. “Behold her!” Rukh cried. “Behold the last, the Very End! Behold Elli!” 

    Inside the cage, it was darker than the evening, and cold stirred behind the bars like a live thing. Something moved in the cold, and the unicorn saw Elli – an old, bony, ragged woman who crouched in the cage rocking and warming herself before a fire that was not there. She looked so frail that the weight of the darkness should have crushed her, and so helpless and alone that the watchers should have rushed forward in pity to free her. Instead, they began to back silently away, for all the world as though Elli were stalking them. But she was not even looking at them. She sat in the dark and creaked a song to herself in a voice that sounded like a saw going through a tree, and like a tree getting ready to fall.

    'What is plucked will grow again,
    What is slain lives on,
    What is stolen will remain –
    What is gone is gone.'

    “She doesn’t look like much, does she?” Rukh asked. “But no hero can stand before her, no god can wrestle her down, no magic can keep her out – or in, for she’s no prisoner of ours. Even while we exhibit her here, she is walking among you, touching and taking. For Elli is Old Age.”

    The cold of the cage reached out to the unicorn, and wherever it touched her she grew lame and feeble. She felt herself withering, loosening, felt her beauty leaving her with her breath. Ugliness swung from her mane, dragged down her head, stripped her tail, gaunted her body, ate up her coat, and ravaged her mind with remembrance of what she had once been. Somewhere nearby, the harpy made her low, eager sound, but the unicorn would gladly have huddled in the shadow of her bronze wings to hide from this last demon. Elli’s song sawed away at her heart.

    'What is sea-born dies on land,
    Soft is trod upon.
    What is given burns the hand –
    What is gone is gone.'

    The horrors of entropy, death, and decay: desiccated black mosses, vetiver, olibanum, patchouli, and ashes.

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  • Emma

    Better known as the “Parisian Queen of America,” needs little introduction in this country.

    Emma’s “House of all Nations,” as it is commonly called, is one place of amusement you can’t very well afford to miss while in the Tenderloin District. Everything goes here. Fun is the watchword.

    Business has been on such an increase at the above place of late that Mdme. Johnson had to occupy an “Annex.” Emma has never less than twenty pretty women of all nations, who are clever entertainers.

    Remember the name,

    Emma Johnson
    331 and 333 Basin Street

    Vanilla bourbon, tea rose, jasmine, pink pepper, and patchouli.

    Out of Stock
  • Fate’s Jester

    Speaking truth to kings, beggars, and popes alike, immune to retribution and lordly wrath as he flings wise quips like cream pies and barbed arrows.

    A motley tunic, festooned in bells: red currant and lemon peel over sugared patchouli and a bit of buttercream.

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  • Fishtail Beaver Alchemy Lab

    All activism scents all the time, except we’re too self-conscious to release them. They sit on a shelf and our friends love trying them on whenever they visit. We think they’re just being nice.

    Himalayan cedar and patchouli with vanilla husk and mint.

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  • Fortuna Annonaria

    The Fortunes of the Harvest

    A hymn for increasing fecundity, and to help nurture all the seeds that you plant in the coming year: patchouli, licorice root, tobacco, and sandalwood.

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  • Fortuna Conservatrix

    The Fortunes of Those Who Protect the Defenseless

    A hymn to give strength and good luck to those who safeguard others: black peppercorn, bitter almond, patchouli, and benzoin.

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  • Fortuna Mala

    Fickle Fortune

    A hymn to propitiate the gods of misfortune and honor the balance of forces in the universe: vetiver, patchouli, and black clove.

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  • Fortuna Muliebris

    The Fortunes of Women

    A hymn for stability, health, strength, and fecundity: French lavender, white pear, and patchouli with clary sage, white tea, and sandalwood.

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  • Fortuna Obsequens

    The Fortunes of Love and Beauty

    A hymn to romance and glamour, passion and virility, seduction and delight: red roses and blood musk enveloped in a haze of blackcurrant, red patchouli, leather accord, and black oudh.

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  • Fuck You, Said the Raven

    “Hey,” said Shadow. “Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are.”

    The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes.

    “Say ‘Nevermore,'” said Shadow.

    “Fuck you,” said the raven.”

    Glossy black, rough, and gravelly: violet-gilded opoponax, black patchouli, myrrh, and oak leaf.

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  • Globe

    A russet chypre slathered in vintage patchouli and black tea with golden amber, hiba wood, and iris root.

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  • Goblin

    Dab a bit behind each ear, and you’ll be instantly inspired to alter street signs, shake fruit from your neighbor’s trees, and hide your roommate’s car keys.

    Black coconut, gnarly patchouli, and sweet benzoin.

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  • Greed

    Base and earthy, yet glittering with golden notes: patchouli, heliotrope, copal and oakmoss.

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  • Hagsgate

    “When those words were first spoken,” Drinn said, “Haggard had not been long in the country, and all of it was still soft and blooming – all but the town of Hagsgate. Hagsgate was then as this land has become: a scrabbly, bare place where men put great stones on the roofs of their huts to keep them from blowing away.” He grinned bitterly at the older men. “Crops to harvest, stock to tend! You grew cabbages and rutabagas and a few pale potatoes, and in all of Hagsgate there was but one weary cow. Strangers thought the town accursed, having offended some vindictive witch or other.”

    Molly felt the unicorn go by in the street, then turn and come back, restless as the torches on the walls, that bowed and wriggled. She wanted to run out to her, but instead she asked quietly, “And afterward, when that had come true?”

    Drinn answered, “From that moment, we have known nothing but bounty. Our grim earth has grown so kind that gardensand orchards spring up by themselves – we need neither to plant nor to tend them. Our flocks multiply; our craftsmen become more clever in their sleep; the air we breathe and the water we drink keep us from ever knowing illness. All sorrow parts to go around us – and this has come about while the rest of the realm, once so green, has shriveled to cinders under Haggard’s hand. For fifty years, none but he and we have prospered. It is as though all others had been cursed.”

    An accursed bounty: rich black soil and hay, cucumber, tomato, red lettuce, summer squash, black eggplant, arugula, grape vine, artichoke, and a tangle of herbs marred by an undercurrent of vetiver, patchouli, and black moss.

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  • Heroine

    Heroine is the first scent created specifically for The Hero Initiative, and the label art is by the fabulous Adam Hughes!

    Nepalese amber, East African patchouli, dark musk, apple blossom, petitgrain, aged leather, skin musk, and rhubarb.

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  • Hetairae

    The sublimely beautiful, fiercely independent, impeccably cultured, fascinatingly worldly and witty courtesans of ancient Greece. A seductive and dazzling blend of golden honey, fiery patchouli, sweet fig and clove, and a blushing touch of ylang ylang.

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  • Hippie Ghost

    A faded snapshot of patchouli-stained peasant blouses, soft suede boots, and smoke.

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  • Ian

    Y’know, for a zombie, you’re alright. A flicker of hero worship, tempered by naivety and an innately kind nature: shaggy leather, sweet rum absolute, and patchouli.

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  • Imp

    Devilishly playful: white peach, amber, golden musk and patchouli.

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  • Imp Pack: Patchouli

    —Anne Bonny
    —The Coiled Serpent
    —Imp
    —Namaste
    —The Obsidian Widow
    —Sin

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  • Jaawi

    Sweet Indonesian patchouli, red benzoin, champaca attar, French lavender, coconut husk, bay leaf, tobacco absolute, lime, and honey.

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  • Lajos

    A tribute to Lajos Pap, a spiritualist medium whose specialty was apporting snakes, lizards, rats, and frogs – live and dead – during séance.

    A pattering of night-creatures: indigo musk and patchouli croaking with oakmoss and a skittering of gleaming black olibanum.

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  • Lust

    Uncontrollable passion and insatiable sexual desire: red musk, patchouli, ylang ylang and myrrh.

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  • Marianne

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

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  • Mary Read

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

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  • Masquerade

    A festive, dazzling blend, layered in mystery and intrigue. Patchouli, ambergris, carnation and orange blossom.

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  • Midnight Bonfire

    Lighting the path between worlds, the beacon at the threshold: night-blooming jasmine, smoldering maple leaves, a cluster of patchouli and blackened ti leaf, black sage, and pinewood smoke.

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  • Miss Lupescu

    “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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  • Monk and Actor

    Soft auburn musk, clove bud, honeyed patchouli, oakmoss absolute, cashmere labdanum, cedar, and mimosa blossom.

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  • Moons of Saturn: Mimas

    Son of Gaia, slain by Hephastus with red-hot iron, incinerated by Zeus’ lightning bolts. Not a lucky fellow at all.

    A thunderclap of ozone and red peppercorn slicing through sweet vetiver, black patchouli, and opoponax.

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  • Murder for Murder, Blood for Blood

    “So. I got to say it, because nobody else here will. We are at the center of this place: a land that has no time for gods, and here at the center it has less time for us than anywhere. It is a no-man’s-land, a place of truce, and we observe our truces, here. We have no choice. So. You give us the body of our friend. We accept it. You will pay for this, murder for murder, blood for blood.”

    Black oudh, patchouli, opoponax, black pepper, and blackened cacao.

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  • Namaste

    A Sanskrit blessing and word of greeting that bears a powerful symbolism. It represents the Oneness of all of existence, the union of matter and spirit, perfect wholeness. It is accompanied by a gesture: Anjali — hands pressed together, fingertips heavenward, pressed together over the heart’s chakra.

    This oil blend is a serene, soothing Indian blend, created to bring calm and joy to the heart and peace to the spirit. Sandalwood, jasmine, rose, patchouli, cedarwood and lemongrass.

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  • Nasty Woman

    As you have no doubt heard, during the third presidential debate, Hillary described her plan to raise taxes on the rich in order to fund Social Security. She took a swing at him over him being a tax dodger (which he is).

    “My Social Security payroll contribution will go up, as will Donald’s – if he can’t figure out how to get out of it.”

    Trump interrupted her and said, “Such a nasty woman.”

    These are two things uttered by the same man within the same hour:

    “Such a nasty woman.”

    “No one has more respect for women than me.”

    Amazing.

    Let’s put this pussy-grabbing, racist, predatory, misogynistic, hateful, irresponsible, ignorant, immature grotesquerie out of politics for good, and do what we can to ensure that he and his ilk never cast their miserable shadows over our political process again.

    Nasty Woman: black fig and patchouli, filthy bourbon vanilla, honeyed amber oud, and loukhoum.

    Proceeds will be split between Planned Parenthood and EMILY’s list.

    plannedparenthood.org

    emilyslist.org

    Photo: Women marching in national suffrage demonstration in Washington, D.C., May 9, 1914.

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  • Nephilim

    Dark children conceived from the union of Fallen Angels and the Daughters of Men. According to lore, the angel Shemhazai led a group of his angels to earth to instruct mankind in the ways of piety and righteousness. After a time, the angels became prey to earthly desires and began to lust after the daughters of man, and thus they fell. They instructed their mortal mates in the arts of conjuration, summoning, necromancy and other magickal arts. The fruits of their union are the Nephilim: possessed of superhuman strength, cunning, and infinite capacity, and hunger for, sin. Venerated as heroes by some, vilified by most, the Nephilim eventually annihilated one another in a cataclysmic civil war instigated by the angel Gabriel as punishment for their transgressions.

    Holy frankincense and hyssop in union with earthy fig, defiled by black patchouli and vetiver, with a chaotic infusion of lavender, cardamom, tamarind, rosemary, oakmoss and cypress.

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  • Oberon

    Orchid, white musk, and bergamot wafting over juniper berries, with a gentle touch of soft, earthy patchouli.

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  • Oblivion

    Salvation found in darkness beyond darkness, the blessed sleep of nothingness. Dark musk, wood spice, labdanum, patchouli, dark African woods, and saffron.

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  • Old Scratch

    Old Nick, the Devil himself, as seen through the eyes of Victorian New England. A jaunty, dapper scent, deceptively genteel: a lavender fougere with tonka, amber, rosewood and a whiff of diabolical patchouli.

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  • Queen Butterfly

    Lady Butterfly
    perfumes her wings
    by floating over this orchid

    Russet amber and orange blossom honey, red labdanum and wild plum, golden musk and a rustle of patchouli root.

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  • Ranger

    Untamed wilderness: buckskin accord with Terebinth pine, Russian birch, black ironwood, elder bark, hay, armoise, juniper, patchouli, galangal root, Spanish moss, and cabreuva.

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  • Roses, Pearls and Diamonds

    The youngest, who was the very picture of her father for courtesy and sweetness of temper, was withal one of the most beautiful girls ever seen. As people naturally love their own likeness, this mother even doted on her eldest daughter and at the same time had a horrible aversion for the youngest–she made her eat in the kitchen and work continually.

    Among other things, this poor child was forced twice a day to draw water above a mile and a-half off the house, and bring home a pitcher full of it. One day, as she was at this fountain, there came to her a poor woman, who begged of her to let her drink. 

    “Oh! ay, with all my heart, Goody,” said this pretty little girl; and rinsing immediately the pitcher, she took up some water from the clearest place of the fountain, and gave it to her, holding up the pitcher all the while, that she might drink the easier. 

    The good woman, having drunk, said to her: 

    You are so very pretty, my dear, so good and so mannerly, that I cannot help giving you a gift.” For this was a fairy, who had taken the form of a poor country woman, to see how far the civility and good manners of this pretty girl would go. “I will give you for a gift,” continued the Fairy, “that, at every word you speak, there shall come out of your mouth either a flower or a jewel.” 

    When this pretty girl came home her mother scolded her for staying so long at the fountain. 

    “I beg your pardon, mamma,” said the poor girl, “for not making more haste.” 

    And in speaking these words there came out of her mouth two roses, two pearls, and two diamonds.

    Red roses, dazzling crystalline musks, and pearlescent coconut-tinged orris.

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  • Sam

    Tap. Tap. Tap.

    Shadow opened his eyes, and, groggily, sat up. He was freezing, and the sky outside the car was the deep luminescent purple that divides the dusk from the night.

    Tap. Tap. Someone said, “Hey, mister,” and Shadow turned his head. The someone was standing beside the car, no more than a darker shape against the darkling sky. Shadow reached out a hand and cranked down the window a few inches. He made some waking-up noises, and then he said, “Hi.”

    “You all right? You sick? You been drinking?” The voice was high—a woman’s or a boy’s.

    “I’m fine,” said Shadow. “Hold on.” He opened the door, and got out, stretching his aching limbs and neck as he did so. Then he rubbed his hands together, to get the blood circulating and to warm them up.

    “Whoa. You’re pretty big.”

    “That’s what they tell me,” said Shadow.

    “Who are you?”

    “I’m Sam,” said the voice.

    “Boy Sam or girl Sam?”

    “Girl Sam. I used to be Sammi with an i, and I’d do a smiley face over the i, but then I got completely sick of it because like absolutely everybody was doing it, so I stopped.”

    “Okay, girl Sam. You go over there, and look out at the road.”

    “Why? Are you a crazed killer or something?”

    “No,” said Shadow, “I need to take a leak and I’d like just the smallest amount of privacy.”

    “Oh. Right. Okay. Got it. No problem. I am so with you. I can’t even pee if there’s someone in the next stall. Major shy bladder syndrome.”

    “Now, please.”

    Nag champa incense, patchouli, and freshly-soaped skin.

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  • Samhainophobia

    The Fear of Halloween

    Menacing Haitian vetiver, patchouli, and clove with a shock of bourbon geranium, grim oakmoss, and dread-inspiring balsams pierce the innocuous scent of autumn leaves.

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  • Seven Word Story: Pride

    The subject of our latest #BPAL7wordstory contest was Pride. The winning entry was submitted by Cam Collins:

    The alligator selfie was a bad idea.

    A swampy blend of Spanish moss, green tea, green oakmoss, celery seed, cucumber, and murky black patchouli.

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  • Seven Word Story: Wrath

    The subject of our latest #BPAL7wordstory contest was WRATH. The winning entry was submitted by Miss Paulette:

    The poison worked slowly, to her delight.

    Bitter almond swirled into black patchouli, with red amber, rum absolute, and lemon peel.

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  • Shakarri

    White pear and absinthe, sea moss and patchouli, labdanum and crushed coral.

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  • Tezcatlipoca

    Lord of the Smoking Mirror, god of sorcery, nighttime, darkness, beauty, war, heroic men, beautiful women, and all material concerns. Tezcatlipoca is the Master Magician, a trickster god and shapeshifter, governing all worldly matters, and is also the Great Tempter, seducing men into evil acts and subsequently punishing them for their transgressions. Deep cocoa laced with patchouli, leather armor, ritual incense, and a touch of Xochiquetzal’s flowers.

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  • The Cross

    The integration of spirit with the material world: frankincense, styrax, oakmoss, patchouli, and birch tar.

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  • The Dream is Big Enough for Everyone

    We believe that the American dream is big enough for everyone, for people of all races and religions, for men and women, for immigrants, for LGBT people and for people with disabilities. For everyone.

    Lilith at the Women’s March DTLA, 2018.

    Nasty Woman? Nah, Nasty Tween: honeyed fig and sugar-dusted patchouli, sweet amber oud, a drop of red currant, and vanilla cream.

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  • The Earth Mother

    The personification of nature itself: patchouli and clary sage with a host of dark mosses and lichens, wild grasses, warm acorns, dammar, burgundy pitch, pine needles, mandrake root, hay absolute, and sweet vetiver.

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  • The Emperor’s Beard

    Fucking hipsters.
    Sweet tobacco and raw patchouli with Italian bergamot, pine needle, vintage dime store musk, and red sandalwood.

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  • The Ghost of a Ghost’s Ghost

    Now, suppose this is to be accepted as the rational and scientific explanation of all the phenomena of this order which have been observed since the human race began to conserve records of its own experience. To what conclusion should we be logically forced? The believe in the objective reality of apparitions under such conditions would have to make way for a new conception, but the point which is really at issue between the materialist and the spiritualist would remain untouched. That issue relates to the permanence of the human personality after death. The spiritualist will point you to his own experiences as affording evidence of the permanence of personality. The materialist is certain that all the experiences of which the spiritualist is conscious result from the operation of natural law. But the eternal question of the soul – “Am I an immortal thing?” – is not to be decided either by the proof of the existence of whole armies of ghosts, or by the rational explanation of all apparitional phenomena whatsoever. The spiritualist falls into an easy error in the supposition that a continuance of personality on a new plane implies a permanence of continuity. What guarantee has a ghost of being immortal? Me not he also perish out of his appointed sphere? And why might we not fancy a whole procession of lives in phantom state – each more ghostly, more attenuated than its forerunner – the ghost of a man, the ghost of a man’s ghost, the ghost of a “ghost’s” ghost, until the thin thing fades into nonentity and slips back into the universal element? The materialist falls into an error parallel with that of the spiritualist when he conceives that a rational explanation of all ghostly phenomena has disposed of a belief in immortality. The concept is as independent of evidence, and as unsupportable by evidence as it is indestructible by evidence. We can neither prove nor disprove, but the balance of reason is still upon the side of the believer and it favours strongly the hope of a continued existence and a continued growth. We can but argue from things known. In all nature we find the clearest evidence of law of progress.
    – the Occult Review, January 1905

    Falling into nonentity and slipping back into the universal element: pallid oakmoss and earthy patchouli tumbling into a void of misty lavender, cistus, and white agarwood.

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  • The Grave-Pig

    We must have all the old demons of the first class, with tails, and the hobgoblins and imps; and then I think we ought not to leave out the death-horse, or the grave-pig, or even the church dwarf, although they do belong to the clergy, and are not reckoned among our people; but that is merely their office, they are nearly related to us, and visit us very frequently. 

    Fig, oakmoss, mushroom caps, and patchouli.

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  • The Great He-Goat

    Francisco Goya

    Haitian vetiver, Egyptian amber, carnation, black musk, pomegranate, patchouli, and smoked ginger.

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  • The Harpy Celaeno

    The unicorn began to walk toward the harpy’s cage. Schmendrick the Magician, tiny and pale, kept opening and closing his mouth at her, and she knew what he was shrieking, though she could not hear him. “She will kill you, she will kill you! Run, you fool, while she’s still a prisoner! She will kill you if you set her free!” But the unicorn walked on, following the light of her horn, until she stood before Celaeno, the Dark One.

    For an instant the icy wings hung silent in the air, like clouds, and the harpy’s old yellow eyes sank into the unicorn’s heart and drew her close. “I will kill you if you set me free,” the eyes said. “Set me free.” 

    The unicorn lowered her head until her horn touched the lock of the harpy’s cage. The door did not swing open, and the iron bars did not thaw into starlight. But the harpy lifted her wings, and the four sides of the cage fell slowly away and down, like the petals of some great flower waking at night. And out of the wreckage the harpy bloomed, terrible and free, screaming, her hair swinging like a sword. The moon withered and fled. 

    The unicorn heard herself cry out, not in terror but in wonder, “Oh, you are like me!” She reared joyously to meet the harpy’s stoop, and her horn leaped up into the wicked wind. The harpy struck once, missed, and swung away, her wings clanging and her breath warm and stinking. She burned overhead, and the unicorn saw herself reflected on the harpy’s bronze breast and felt the monster shining from her own body. So they circled one another like a double star, and under the shrunken sky there was nothing real but the two of them. The harpy laughed with delight, and her eyes turned the color of honey. The unicorn knew that she was going to strike again. 

    Clanging metal, smouldering hatred, and terror: vetiver, myrrh, patchouli, tolu balsam, black clove, bergamot, orange flower, and horseradish.

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  • The Illustrated Woman

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

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  • The Magician’s Tools

    With the Wand createth He.
    With the Cup preserveth He.
    With the Dagger destroyeth He.
    With the Coin redeemeth He.
    – Liber B vel Magi sub Figura I

    Clary sage and patchouli for Earth, lavender and yarrow for Air, tobacco and Dracaena cinnabari for Fire, lotus root and myrrh for Water.

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  • The Midnight Carnival

    There were nine wagons, each draped in black, each drawn by a lean black horse, and each baring barred sides like teeth when the wind blew through the black hangings. The lead wagon was driven by a squat old woman, and it bore signs on its shrouded sides that said in big letters: MOMMY FORTUNA’S MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL. And below, in smaller print: Creatures of night, brought to light.

    Cruelty and confinement, small magics and penny illusions: galbanum, teak, myrrh, narcissus, patchouli, cacao, labdanum, agarwood, lavender, neroli, and black moss.

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  • The Night-Raven

    “You are invited to the elf hill for this evening,” said she; “but will you do me a great favor and undertake the invitations? you ought to do something, for you have no housekeeping to attend to as I have. We are going to have some very grand people, conjurors, who have always something to say; and therefore the old elf king wishes to make a great display…”

    “Croak,” said the night-raven as he flew away with the invitations.

    Indigo musk, wild plum, rose geranium, benzoin, night-blooming jasmine, and patchouli.

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  • The Obsidian Widow

    Tinkling tiny feet scuttle across a massive oak desk, navigating through a flurry of papers and a maze of discarded books, wires, and bolts. Glistening green venom beads at its chelicerae, and a ruby hourglass flashes from the creature’s underbelly as it begins to weave.

    Pinot noir, dark myrrh, red sandalwood, black patchouli, night-blooming jasmine, and attar of rose.

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  • The Phantom Calliope

    Ghostly, glowing, sweet and dark: black cherry, patchouli, cassis, cardamom and verbena.

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  • The Rat Speakers

    For a moment, Richard was blinded by the sudden light. He was standing in a huge, vaulted room, and underground hall, filled with firelight and smoke. Small fires burned around the room. Shadowy people stood by the flames, roasting small animals on spits. People scurried from fire to fire. It reminded him of hell—or rather, the way that he had thought of Hell as a schoolboy. The smoke irritated his lungs, and he coughed. A hundred eyes turned, then, and stared at him; a hundred eyes, unblinking and unfriendly.

    A snuffling, brown scent: earthy patchouli, sage, russet sandalwood, grimy leather, fig leaf, and lemongrass.

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  • The Stranger

    The unknown factor, the outsider entering your town uninvited, unannounced, and unknown: a narcotic black chypre with crushed violets, indigo lilac, patchouli, oakmoss absolute, labdanum, and clove.

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  • The Wild Men of Jezirat Al Tennyn

    You are shocked out of the torch song’s melancholy mood by shrieks, hoots, and yowls. You move to your left, and see that instead of a stage, a gigantic iron cage has been hung, hovering a few feet off of the ground. Elaborate, delicate silver sigils are engraved upon huge iron disks that have been mounted to the sides of the cage, and they flicker and spark whenever one of the wild men touches the iron bars that imprison them. The backdrop depicts a blistering volcanic eruption, spiked with thick luminescent bolts of lightning. Several beings are held within the cage, male and female, spanning every age. They flash their razor-fanged smiles at you malevolently as they anxiously crawl, pace, and stalk the length of their prison, stopping occasionally to pose and preen as they gossip with one another in an unrecognizable guttural, grinding language. Their tattooed skin glows an angry crimson, curving horns protrude from their skulls, and their eyes blaze with unholy light.

    Fiery, primal, and precociously diabolical: red amber, Spanish moss, Indonesian patchouli, ambergris, sweet ambrette seed, red pepper, two cloves, and vanilla flower.

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  • Tiresias, The Androgyne

    Upon the next stage, a spotlight is focused on a mammoth bronze sculpture of two snakes entwined. Their bodies are wrapped around each other in an intimate embrace, and their tongues touch suggestively. The deep, somber boom of a standing bass leads into a twelve-string guitar’s plaintive moan, and as the music swells, a stunning, statuesque woman steps out from behind the statue, her fierce and regal face in profile. The spotlight dims to a deep amber-red, and shines a dark, sanguine light onto her, tinting her long, wild hair the color of blood. She sings:

    Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless.
    Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless.
    Little white flowers will never awaken you,
    Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you.
    Angels have no thought of ever returning you.
    Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?
    Gloomy Sunday.

    She turns, and abruptly faces left. Her features are coarser, more masculine, and you notice the rough, dusky shadow of an evening beard on the singer’s face. On this side, the hair is cropped short, and as s/he sighs and begins the next verse, you hear the voice deepen to a weathered, sorrowful baritone.

    Gloomy is Sunday; with shadows I spend it all.
    My heart and I have decided to end it all.
    Soon there’ll be candles and prayers that are sad, I know.
    Death is no dream, for in death I’m caressing you.
    With the last breath of my soul I’ll be blessing you.
    Gloomy Sunday.

    The singer turns to face the audience, and your senses reel. On the left side, the features are sharp, but feminine. You can see the curve of her breast, the soft fullness of her hips, the arch of her fine brow. On the right, it is the body of an Adonis, muscular and commanding. You see that a thick seam runs down the center of the body, stitched roughly.

    Though the vision is disconcerting, the warmth and passion in the singer’s voice swells inside your heart, and you are spellbound. Enraptured, you realize that though the gender is opposed on either side, one soul binds the whole.

    Dark, moody, and bittersweet: black currant, patchouli, tobacco, cinnamon leaf, caramel, muguet, and red sandalwood.

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  • Tombeur

    There are two types of vampires that humans, and often other vampires, need to be wary of: the Interfectors and the Tombeur.

    The Tombeur, are much more complex in their hunting habits and their perceptions than their Interfector cousins. Like the Interfectors, they perceive their vampirism to be an initiation into a higher state of being and relegate humans to base foodstuffs. Unlike the Interfectors, however, the Tombeur are not straightforward predators, and there is a secondary purpose to their hunt: sexual gratification. They take full advantage of their saliva’s hypnotic and psychotropic effects on humans, the mystique that surrounds vampires, the seemingly unnatural attraction some humans have toward vampires, and the potency of the Tombeurs’ own sexual drive to lure humans into complex carnal relationships that culminate in feeding. They are consummate seducers, and some Tombeur feed, completely and terminally, on their conquests, while others create henchmen that are little more than sex slaves. Neither fate is something we would recommend to any of our readers.

    Deadly and seductive: vanilla-infused sandalwood, blood musk, antique patchouli, vetiver, lavender, bitter almond, amber, and a trickle of Snake Oil.

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  • Tweedledum

    Tweedledum and Tweedledee 
    Agreed to have a battle! 
    For Tweedledum said Tweedledee 
    Had spoiled his nice new rattle. 

    Just then flew down a monstrous crow, 
    As black as a tar-barrel! 
    Which frightened both the heroes so, 
    They quite forgot their quarrel.’

    Absurd! Green mango, fig, patchouli and green tea.

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  • Vespillo

    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.

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  • Vixen

    Lascivious, flirtatious, and vampy as hell. A true heartbreaker’s perfume. The innocence of orange blossom tainted by the beguiling scents of ginger and patchouli.

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  • Voodoo

    A midnight scent, evoking images of flickering golden firelight reflecting off the sheen of glistening skin and the jerking shadows of bodies suffused with spiritual ecstasy. A deep, powerful, resonant blend of myrrh, patchouli, vetiver, lime, vanilla, pine, almond and clove.

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  • War

    She finished the drink, hefted the sword over one shoulder, and looked around at the puzzled factions, who now encircled her completely. ‘Sorry to run out on you, chaps,’ she said. ‘Would love to stay and get to know you better.’

    The men in the room suddenly realized they didn’t want to know her better. She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, but not up close.

    And she held her sword, and she smiled like a knife.

    Red ginger, black spices, patchouli, honeysuckle, and three blood-soaked red musks.

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  • Western Pygmy Blue

    A flutter of bronze and azure blue: coconut amber, patchouli and tobacco absolute with blue lotus petal, lilac, tobacco petal, dried blueberry and blackcurrant, and khus.

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  • Wilde

    To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear
    This paltry age’s gaudy livery,
    To let each base hand filch my treasury,
    To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,
    And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom, — I swear
    I love it not! these things are less to me
    Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
    Less than the thistle-down of summer air
    Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
    Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
    Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
    Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
    Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
    Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.

    A sophisticated traditional gentleman’s cologne, with just the slightest taint of patchouli’s passion, tonka bean’s decadence, the philanthropy of bergamot, moss’ cynicism, the sharp wit of lavender, and the hopeless romantic longing of jasmine and thyme.

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  • Zoe and the Goat

    Lorenz Frølich

    Caramelized patchouli, cream, and thick golden honey.

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