Pen Ink
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A Complex, Wiggly Sigil Perfume Oil
Add to cartHastur produced a clipboard from the grubby recesses of his mack.
“Sign. Here,” he said, leaving a terrible pause between the words.
Crowley fumbled vaguely in an inside pocket and produced a pen. It was sleek and matte black. It looked as though it could exceed the speed limit.
“‘S’nice pen,” said Ligur. “It can write under water,” Crowley muttered.
“Whatever will they think of next?” mused Ligur.
“Whatever it is, they’d better think of it quickly,” said Hastur. “No. Not A. J. Crowley. Your real name.”
Crowley nodded mournfully, and drew a complex, wiggly sigil on the paper.
It glowed redly in the gloom, just for a moment, and then faded: blood-red ink, fiery pomegranate, and black oudh.
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Kit Perfume Oil
Add to cartImmersed in his (eternal) life’s work, holding on to his memories, suffused with a love of life and literature, Kit’s scent is soft and dry as bone: Mysore sandalwood a tattered and patched 16th century waistcoat, inkstained, still scented with the marjoram and benzoin dry perfumes of his youth.
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Quintessence of Dust Perfume Oil
Add to cart“What a piece of work is a man!”
“What is this quintessence of dust?”The passing: beeswax and smoke, yellowed paper and well-worn leather books, droplets of spilled ink, faded incense, blood-tinged salty tears, and the metal of the knife that skewers that illiterate zombie philistine’s portrait.
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Salma Perfume Oil
Add to cartCrisp linen, a smudge of ballpoint pen ink, soap-touched skin, apple shampoo, and effervescent science fair experiment residue.