Patchouli

  • A Countenance Foreboding Evil Perfume Oil

    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 vintage-looking photograph of an old-fashioned pen and inkwell with text reading "A Hymn to the Evening"

    A Hymn to the Evening Perfume Oil

    Phillis Wheatley

    Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
    The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain;
    Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing,
    Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
    Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
    And through the air their mingled music floats.
    Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread!
    But the west glories in the deepest red:
    So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow,
    The living temples of our God below!
    Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light,
    And draws the sable curtains of the night,
    Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
    At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;
    So shall the labours of the day begin
    More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
    Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
    Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.

    A gentle scent for peace, safety, and rest: twilit lavender bud and sweet labdanum, hops, red benzoin, patchouli, Mysore sandalwood, and vanilla bean.

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    A Savage Veil, Severe and Strong Perfume Oil

    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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  • Al-Shairan Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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    An Ineffable Game Perfume Oil

    God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players,* to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.

    An ineffable smell: pitch-black vetiver with a strange, sheer patchouli, orange blossom, and fig leaf.

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    Anteros Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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    Ask the Nearest Hippie Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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    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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    Blóðughadda Perfume Oil

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

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    Brangwy Perfume Oil

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

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  • Bruised Violet Compound Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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    Byronic Antihero Beard Oil

    He stood – some dread was on his face,
    Soon Hatred settled in its place:
    It rose not with the reddening flush
    Of transient Anger’s hasty blush,
    But pale as marble o’er the tomb,
    Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom.
    His brow was bent, his eye was glazed;
    He raised his arm, and fiercely raised,
    And sternly shook his hand on high,
    As doubting to return or fly;
    Impatient of his flight delay’d,
    Here loud his raven charger neigh’d —
    Down glanced that hand, and grasp’d his blade;
    That sound had burst his waking dream,
    As Slumber starts at owlet’s scream,
    The spur hath lanced his courser’s sides;
    Away, away, for life he rides:
    Swift as the hurl’d on high jerreed
    Springs to the touch his startled steed:
    The rock is doubled, and the shore
    Shakes with the clattering tramp no more:
    The crag is won, no more is seen
    His Christian crest and haughty mien.
    ‘T was but an instant he restrain’d
    That fiery barb so sternly rein’d;
    ‘T was but a moment that he stood,
    Then sped as if by death pursued;
    But in that instant o’er his soul
    Winters of Memory seem’d to roll,
    And gather in that drop of time
    A life of pain, an age of crime.
    O’er him who loves, or hates, or fears,
    Such moment pours the grief of years:
    What felt he then, at once opprest
    By all that most distracts the breast?
    That pause, which ponder’d o’er his fate,
    Oh, who its dreary length shall date !
    Though in Time’s record nearly nought,
    It was Eternity to Thought !
    For infinite as boundless space
    The thought that Conscience must embrace,
    Which in itself can comprehend
    Woe without name, or hope, or end.

    – The Giaour, Lord Byron

    An aristocratic cologne of titanic passions, moody and brooding. This scent is dark with disillusionment and cynicism: a Victorian fougère and a dashing carnation boutonniere tainted by a cloud of khus, yew, and patchouli.

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  • Cat Seen From Behind Perfume Oil

    Kawabata Gyokushō

    A decidedly warm shoulder: toasted sandalwood, tonka bean, rice milk, and patchouli.

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    Caterpillar Perfume Oil

    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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  • Champagne and Croquet Perfume Oil

    A very difficult game indeed: pink champagne, pink lime, pink grapefruit, wild rose, yellow bergamot, purple sage, nectarine skins, a thump of patchouli, and ornery hedgehog musk.

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    Clémence Perfume Oil

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

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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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    Cytherea Perfume Oil

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

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  • Dance of Death Perfume Oil

    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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  • Dark-Eyed, Delightful Perfume Oil

    Brown sugar, cacao, toasted cardamom, patchouli, vanilla absolute, and benzoin.

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    Dawn: Priestess Perfume Oil

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

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    Dead for Filth Perfume Oil

    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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  • DEAD LEAVES, PRUNE, AND PATCHOULI
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    Death on a Pale Horse Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

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

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  • Desire Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

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

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    Eisheth Zenunim Perfume Oil

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

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  • Elli’s Song Perfume Oil

    “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, bone sandalwood, olibanum, patchouli, opoponax, and ashes.

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  • frederic

    Frederic 2024 Perfume Oil

    For some ridiculous reason, to which, however, I’ve no desire to be disloyal,
    Some person in authority, I don’t know who, very likely the Astronomer Royal,
    Has decided that, although for such a beastly month as February, twenty-eight days as a rule are plenty,
    One year in every four his days shall be reckoned as nine and twenty.
    Through some singular coincidence – I shouldn’t be surprised if it were owing to the agency of an ill-natured fairy –
    You are the victim of this clumsy arrangement, having been born in leap-year, on the twenty-ninth of February;
    And so, by a simple arithmetical process, you’ll easily discover,
    That though you’ve lived twenty-one years, yet, if we go by birthdays, you’re only five and a little bit over!

    Alas, poor Frederic the Leapling! — bound to the merry Pirates of Penzance until his twenty-first birthday.

    As his birthday comes around only every four years, so does his scent!

    Victorian whimsy and piratical romance: a reluctant seaman’s chypre sloshed with a mix of bay rum, patchouli, amber musk, dark woods, tea rose, and red currant.

     

     

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    Fuck You, Said the Raven Perfume Oil

    “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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  • GINGERBREAD SNEK

    Gingerbread Snek Perfume Oil

    Gingerbread thickened with molasses and patchouli, spiced with Snake oil, and frosted with sugared vanilla bean.

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  • Goblin Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

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

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  • Haul on the Bowline Perfume Oil

    Haul on the bowlin’, the bully ship’s a-rolling,
    Haul on the bowlin’, the bowlin’ haul!
    Haul on the bowlin’, Kitty is me darlin’.
    Haul on the bowlin’, Kitty comes from Liverpool.
    Haul on the bowlin’, it’s a far cry to payday.

    A short-haul shanty for getting the job done. A thumping chant of patchouli, tobacco absolute, black cedar, and cocoa bean.

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    Hedonism Bath Oil

    Please note all bath oils are 4oz

    Patchouli, ylang ylang, grapefruit, lemon, and myrrh.

    Awaken all of your senses with a bath that reawakens the passion of the soul.

    He who allows his day to pass by without practicing generosity and enjoying life’s pleasures is like a blacksmith’s bellows: he breathes but does not live. — Proverb

    4oz Bottle

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    Heroine Perfume Oil

    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.

    Out of Stock
  • Hetairae Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

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

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    Ian Perfume Oil

    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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    Ignis Massage Oil

    In alchemy, the archetype of fire represents activity and transformation. Our blend of ylang ylang, patchouli, sandalwood, myrrh, palmarosa, and King mandarin personifies this classical element, and expresses itself through the stimulation of your sexual energy. This massage oil inspires passion, relaxes inhibitions, and instills you with a sense of power and magnetism.

    4oz bottle.

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    Imp Pack: Patchouli Perfume Oil

    Anne Bonny
    A blend of Indonesian red patchouli, red sandalwood, and frankincense.

    The Coiled Serpent
    A potent yogic oil that stimulates the kundalini, provokes spiritual awakening, and releases the energy seated in your root chakra.

    Imp
    White peach, amber, golden musk and patchouli.

    Namaste
    Sandalwood, jasmine, rose, patchouli, cedarwood and lemongrass.

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

    Sin
    Amber, sandalwood, black patchouli and cinnamon.

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  • Imp Perfume Oil

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

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    Ira Bath Oil

    Please note all bath oils are 4oz

    Blood orange, patchouli, and vetiver.

    If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow. – Chinese proverb

    4oz Bottle

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    Jaawi Perfume Oil

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

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    La Roue de Malheur Hair Gloss

    Red musk, blackened patchouli, opium tar, inky oudh, champaca flower, pomegranate pulp, frankincense, and tobacco.

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  • les passades

    Les Passades Perfume Oil

    Aubrey Beardsley

    A heady swish of black velvet patchouli, ambre noir, silken musk, and bourbon vanilla.

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    Lust Perfume Oil

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

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    Luxuria Bath Oil

    Please note all bath oils are 4oz

    Red musk, patchouli, pomegranate, red currant, bourbon vanilla, nutmeg, sweet orange.

    Lust’s passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes. — the Marquis de Sade

    4oz Bottle

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    Marianne Perfume Oil

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

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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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  • Masquerade Perfume Oil

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

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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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    Murder for Murder, Blood for Blood Perfume Oil

    “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 Perfume Oil

    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

    Nasty Woman Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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    Non-Compliant Perfume Oil

    Too butch, too femme, too sexy, not sexy enough, too smart, too big, too loud, too angry.

    Sugar and bile, leather and blood, honey and rum, shredded patchouli and vetiver, tobacco and lime.

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    Oberon Perfume Oil

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

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    Oblivion Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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  • Palo Santo and Patchouli
  • bar of patchouli clove soap

    Patchouli Clove Soap

    Husky patchouli and bitter clove in a soap swirled with bonfire ash.

    Out of Stock
  • Rakshasa Perfume Oil

    This haunting, exotic scent is named in honor of the shapeshifting demons from Hindu mythology. Sandalwood with rose and patchouli.

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  • Raminou Perfume Oil

    Suzanne Valadon

    A tawny, majestic blend of red velvet musk, golden vanilla, ambrette seed, tonka bean, sweet myrrh, oakmoss, honey, red labdanum, cashmere, patchouli, and saffron threads.

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  • Ranger Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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    Seven Word Story: Pride Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

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

    Out of Stock
  • SNOW SNAKE

    Snow Snake 2023 Perfume Oil

    A chilly interpretation of BPAL’s Snake Oil: sweet, spiced musk with a crunch of snow and frost-hardened patchouli.

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    Socius Beard Oil

    A solid, steadfast blend of patchouli, smoked vanilla husk, ambergris accord, and tawny oudh.

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    Terrae Massage Oil

    In alchemy, the archetype of earth represents practicality, the manifestation of thought and will, and material creation. Our blend of patchouli, myrrh, spikenard, oakmoss, and clary sage grants a sense of stability, and will help keep you grounded.

    4oz bottle.

    Out of Stock
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    Tezcatlipoca Perfume Oil

    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 Giant

    The Giant Perfume Oil

    Francisco de Goya y Lucientes

    Indonesian vetiver, black orris absolute, patchouli, white pepper, mandrake root, stone dust, and oakmoss.

    Out of Stock
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    The Grave-Pig Perfume Oil

    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 Harpy Celaeno Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

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

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  • The Midnight Carnival Perfume Oil

    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, mandrake root, patchouli, cacao, labdanum, agarwood, lavender, neroli, and black moss.

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    The Night-Raven Perfume Oil

    “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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

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

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    The Rat Speakers Perfume Oil

    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 Wild Men of Jezirat Al Tennyn Perfume Oil

    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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  • The Wish Perfume Oil

    The Wish, Theodor Von Holst, 1840
    “I’ve always wanted to know what wishes are longed for in the dark-eyed gaze of this intense young woman. Myself, I simply wish to rifle through the box of baubles and jewels in the bottom right of the canvas. Maybe help myself to that pearl-tipped hat-pin.”

    An incense of candied smoked fruits, Oman frankincense, red oud, labdanum absolute, sheer vanilla, patchouli, red musk seed, osmanthus, and datura accord.

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  • The Woman at the Edge of the Woods Perfume Oil

    “This is the primal threat in our earliest stories: a woman who lives on the outskirts of civilization, rejected by her community; a woman who is old, ugly, asexual; a woman who is, alternately, too beautiful, too sexual, too self-possessed; a woman who knows things others don’t know, and can do things others can’t do. When the loop of patriarchy closes, it can feel inescapable. Yet the way to freedom has been here, in our monster stories, all along. From the beginning, we’ve known that a woman who leaves society as we know it, who heads out to the dark and threatening spaces beyond the world we’ve built, will find not her death but her power.”

    A scent of power and wisdom, resilience and rage: a patchouli bramble embraced by creeping ivy and rose thorns, protecting a glade populated with mandrake root, yarrow and nettle, Roman chamomile, purple sage, elderberries, sweet myrrh, smoky vanilla husk, and willow branches.

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    Tiresias, The Androgyne Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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 Perfume Oil

    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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  • Wilde Perfume Oil

    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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  • Woman as Dragon Perfume Oil

    “The archaic mother – the mother who reproduces without male permission for her own satisfaction – is the least human of the female monsters because she poses the most profound existential threat… The Mother is female bodily self-determination, full-fledged and uncontrollable, out of the ocean and stomping skyscrapers, turning the male world to rubble. She is what happens when the Furies come home.”

    A fiery red musk with crushed ginger root, black upturned soil, dragon’s blood resin, clove bud, pink peppercorn, tobacco absolute, red amber, patchouli, black oud, blood-caked tar, vetiver, and cedar.

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