Musk - Red

  • 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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  • Behind the Veils

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

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

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  • Bien Loin D’Ici

    This is the house, the sacred box,
    Where, always draped in languorous frocks,
    And always at home if someone knocks,

    One elbow into the pillow pressed,
    She lies, and lazily fans her breast,
    While fountains weep their soulfullest:

    This is the chamber of Dorothy.
    Fountain and breeze for her alone
    Sob in that soothing undertone.
    Was ever so spoiled a harlot known?

    With odorous oils and rosemary,
    Benzoin and every unguent grown,
    Her skin is rubbed most delicately.
    The flowers are faint with ecstasy.

    The Scarlet Woman, aglow with sensual indolence: red musk, benzoin, caramel accord, golden honey, and spiced Moroccan unguents.

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  • Bloodlust

    A fiery Martial blend that embodies primal rage, lust for conquest, and all-encompassing desire. Dragon’s blood essence, heavy red musk, Indonesian patchouli and swarthy vetiver with a drop of cinnamon.

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  • Countess Willie

    Sophisticated, dramatic, well-traveled, glamorous, and worldly, Countess Willie V. Piazza, owner of the French Studio, was a trendsetter in style and fashion. Countess Willie was an educated woman, a patron of the arts, and possessed an impressive library of rare volumes. She featured many historic jazz musicians in her House, including Tony Jackson and Jelly Roll Morton. Unlike many of her counterparts, she was known for having a kind heart and a generous, loving nature. She was fiercely protective: when a patron of her establishment, the nephew of a prominent New Orleans cleric, committed a heinous act of sadism against one of her ladies, Countess Willie shot him dead.

    Chocolate plum musk, red musk, amaretto, candied fruits, and red ginger.

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  • Debauchery

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

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  • Dodo

    ‘In that case,’ said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, ‘I move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies –’

    ‘Speak English!’ said the Eaglet. ‘I don’t know the meaning of half those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t believe you do either!’ And the Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds tittered audibly.

    ‘What I was going to say,’ said the Dodo in an offended tone, ‘was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race.’

    ‘What is a Caucus-race?’ said Alice; not that she wanted much to know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that somebody ought to speak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything.

    ‘Why,’ said the Dodo, ‘the best way to explain it is to do it.’ (And, as you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter day, I will tell you how the Dodo managed it.)

    First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (‘the exact shape doesn’t matter,’ it said,) and then all the party were placed along the course, here and there. There was no ‘One, two, three, and away,’ but they began running when they liked, and left off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over. However, when they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out ‘The race is over!’ and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, ‘But who has won?’

    This question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its forehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in the pictures of him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo said, ‘everybody has won, and all must have prizes.’

    Red musk, lemon peel, sugar cane, cassia, white sandalwood, mango, and agarwood.

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  • Dragon’s Heart

    A scent pulsing with vitality, warmth and insurmountable strength: dragon’s blood resin, red and black musks, a throb of fig and a sliver of black currant.

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  • Edible G-String

    Snap! Snap! Sugar crystals and tart candies with a splash of red musk.

    (DO NOT EAT)

    Out of Stock
  • Fenris Wolf

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

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  • Fortuna Belli

    The Fortunes of War

    A hymn for triumph for those who do battle, whether it be with fists, ideas, or words: frankincense and dragon’s blood resin, saffron-threaded red musk, tomato leaf, tobacco absolute and tobacco leaf, and leather accord.

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  • Funnel of Love

    17-year aged black patchouli, champaca flower, cardamom bud, green coriander, Haitian vetiver, red vegetal musk, black pepper, night-blooming jasmine, and leather.

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  • Himerus

    The God of Sexual Desire, Longing and Yearning; an attendant of Eros and Aphrodite. A passion-rousing blend of juniper, sandalwood, rosewood, red musk, orchid, bergamot and lilac.

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  • Hollywood Babylon

    The essence of innocence shattered: glittering Egyptian amber and heliotrope, infused with the sweetness of strawberry and vanilla – dragged into debauch by lusty red musk and a dribble of black cherry.

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  • Kabuki

    Compelling, complex, and utterly enigmatic: a luxuriant, exotic blend of cherry, red musk, and star anise.

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  • King of Hearts

    ‘How do you like the Queen?’ said the Cat in a low voice. 

    ‘Not at all,’ said Alice: ‘she’s so extremely–‘ Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening: so she went on, ‘–likely to win, that it’s hardly worth while finishing the game.’ 

    The Queen smiled and passed on. 

    ‘Who ARE you talking to?’ said the King, going up to Alice, and looking at the Cat’s head with great curiosity.

    ‘It’s a friend of mine–a Cheshire Cat,’ said Alice: ‘allow me to introduce it.’ 

    ‘I don’t like the look of it at all,’ said the King: ‘however, it may kiss my hand if it likes.’ 

    ‘I’d rather not,’ the Cat remarked. 

    ‘Don’t be impertinent,’ said the King, ‘and don’t look at me like that!’ He got behind Alice as he spoke.

    ‘A cat may look at a king,’ said Alice. ‘I’ve read that in some book, but I don’t remember where.’ 

    ‘Well, it must be removed,’ said the King very decidedly, and he called the Queen, who was passing at the moment, ‘My dear! I wish you would have this cat removed!’ 

    The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or small. 

    ‘-Off with his head!’ she said, without even looking round. 

    ‘I’ll fetch the executioner myself,’ said the King eagerly, and he hurried off. 

    Rosewood and black cherry with white musk, red rose, red musk and a spark of lavender.

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  • Le Lèthè

    Viens sur mon coeur, âme cruelle et sourde,
    Tigre adoré, monstre aux airs indolents;
    Je veux longtemps plonger mes doigts tremblants
    Dans l’épaisseur de ta crinière lourde;

    Dans tes jupons remplis de ton parfum
    Ensevelir ma tête endolorie,
    Et respirer, comme une fleur flétrie,
    Le doux relent de mon amour défunt.

    Je veux dormir! dormir plutôt que vivre!
    Dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort,
    J’étalerai mes baisers sans remords
    Sur ton beau corps poli comme le cuivre.

    Pour engloutir mes sanglots apaisés
    Rien ne me vaut l’abîme de ta couche;
    L’oubli puissant habite sur ta bouche,
    Et le Léthé coule dans tes baisers.

    À mon destin, désormais mon délice,
    J’obéirai comme un prédestiné;
    Martyr docile, innocent condamné,
    Dont la ferveur attise le supplice,

    Je sucerai, pour noyer ma rancoeur,
    Le népenthès et la bonne ciguë
    Aux bouts charmants de cette gorge aiguë
    Qui n’a jamais emprisonné de coeur.

    – – –

    Come, lie upon my breast, cruel, insensitive soul,
    Adored tigress, monster with the indolent air;
    I want to plunge trembling fingers for a long time
    In the thickness of your heavy mane,

    To bury my head, full of pain
    In your skirts redolent of your perfume,
    To inhale, as from a withered flower,
    The moldy sweetness of my defunct love.

    I wish to sleep! to sleep rather than live!
    In a slumber doubtful as death,
    I shall remorselessly cover with my kisses
    Your lovely body polished like copper.

    To bury my subdued sobbing
    Nothing equals the abyss of your bed,
    Potent oblivion dwells upon your lips
    And Lethe flows in your kisses.

    My fate, hereafter my delight,
    I’ll obey like one predestined;
    Docile martyr, innocent man condemned,
    Whose fervor aggravates the punishment.

    I shall suck, to drown my rancor,
    Nepenthe and the good hemlock
    From the charming tips of those pointed breasts
    That have never guarded a heart.

    Red musk and sweat-damp golden skin musk with labdanum, golden amber, nutmeg, tobacco absolute, black orchid, and hemlock accord.

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  • Lust

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

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  • Mania

    The personification of insanity, Mother of Manes, Goddess of Night Spirits, Mistress of Undeath, She Who Gives Life to the Dead. With Mantus, she rules the Etruscan underworld, and her scent is roiling chaos and churning madness, but because she is the mother of the Lares, benevolent household spirits, her perfume also bears an underlying gentleness, and, like madness, a strange sweetness. Screeching white musk collides with a howl of red musk, with sharp white grapefruit and pale strawberry leaf.

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  • Marianne

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

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  • Mme. Moriarty, Misfortune Teller

    A colorless woman bursts from an elaborate gold and ruby tent and faints dead at your feet. Soft laughter emits from the dark entrance to the tent, and the scent of musk, black fruits and incense touches your senses. Looking up, you see that the sign hovering above the unconscious woman is adorned with images of the Major Arcana’s Tower and reads:

    “Mme. Moriarty, Misfortune Teller.
    No fate too grim, no future too bleak.”

    A tiny woman with floor-length black dreadlocks walks out of the tent, stepping over the prone body. She is clothed in deep red wrappings, and is bedecked in golden ornaments bearing alchemical symbols and charms representing eternity, chance, and wisdom. She pauses, looks you over slowly, and then flicks a tarot card at your feet.

    Red musk, vanilla bean, pomegranate, black currant, patchouli leaf and wild plum.

    Out of Stock
  • Scherezade

    A master storyteller who possessed unfailing courage and compassion, a sharp, quick wit, and a true understanding of human nature. Saffron and Middle Eastern spices swirled through sensual red musk.

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  • Sissy, The Ascendant

    Sassafras and smoke for black vulture feathers, and King mandarin and red musk for the deep red-orange of the vulture’s face. Blue lilac and chamomile / opoponax and vetiver for the blue and black of her eyes. Vanilla bean and fig represent her innate goodness and instinctive kindness.

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  • Spellbound

    Perfectly enchanting! An irresistibly sexual, utterly rapturous blend of three roses, radiant amber, and sensual red musk.

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  • The Great Sword of War

    And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.

    Mandarin, tonka, saffron, black tea, cocoa, tobacco leaf, sanguine red musk and five classical herbs of conflict.

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  • The Grindhouse

    Throaty laughter captures your attention. Across the lane you see a buxom Venetian woman standing before a huge black and red striped tent. Her head is inclined towards a dapper, leering man, and they appear to be sharing a private joke. He reaches into his waistcoat and produces a gold coin. The woman plucks it from his fingers. He bows, and walks into the tent with a swagger. A sign flashes above the tent flap in letters that seem to be aflame: The Grindhouse, Dead or Live Girls.

    The Madam turns towards you and smiles. As she approaches, someone within the tent strikes a few keys on a tuneless piano, and begins to play Jelly Roll Morton’s ‘the Crave’. The light within the tent illuminates the interior, shining behind the silhouettes of naked women gyrating lewdly upon raised stages, writhing in time with the music.

    In the distance, behind the tent, you hear a whip crack, and a man’s scream. Tittering laughter follows, and the screams continue.

    “Voulez-vous un morceau de la boîte de bonbon?” she asks, gesturing gracefully towards the tent.

    The Madam’s perfume envelops you.

    Florentine iris, red musk, mimosa, magnolia, Damascus rose, clove, and vanilla bean.

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  • The Ifrit

    The taxi driver comes out of the shower, wet, with a towel wrapped around his midsection. He is not wearing his sunglasses, and in the dim room his eyes burn with scarlet flames.

    Salim blinks back tears. “I wish you could see what I see,” he says.

    “I do not grant wishes,” whispers the ifrit, dropping his towel and pushing Salim gently, but irresistibly, down onto the bed.

    Desert sand, red musk, blackened ginger, dragon’s blood resin, black pepper, cinnamon, and tobacco.

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  • The Magician’s Robes

    The Red King and White Queen, sulfur and mercury, Rubedo and Albedo. The unification of opposites, putrefaction and individuation, the culmination of the Great Work.

    ὁδὸς ἄνω κάτω μία καὶ ὡυτή: red and white musks alight with frankincense, white oudh, sweet labdanum, and saffron. The way up and the way down are one and the same.

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  • The Monstrous

    And the stories she’d been told, were they confessions of uncommitted crimes, accounts of the worst imaginable, imagined to keep fiction from becoming fact? The thought chased its own tail: these terrible stories still needed a first cause, a well-spring from which they leaped. As she walked home through the busy streets she wondered how many of her fellow citizens knew such stories. Were these inventions common currency, as Purcell had claimed? Was there a place, however small, reserved in every heart for the monstrous?

    The shadow self – the monstrous self – buried within everyone’s soul: black, thick, dark oils – opoponax, myrrh, vetiver, blackened patchouli, and jaundiced turmeric – within a pulse of red musk.

    Out of Stock
  • The Temptation

    The Demon, in my chamber high,
    This morning came to visit me,
    And, thinking he would find some fault,
    He whispered: “I would know of thee

    Among the many lovely things
    That make the magic of her face,
    Among the beauties, black and rose,
    That make her body’s charm and grace,

    Which is most fair?” Thou didst reply
    To the Abhorred, O soul of mine:
    “No single beauty is the best
    When she is all one flower divine.

    When all things charm me I ignore
    Which one alone brings most delight;
    She shines before me like the dawn,
    And she consoles me like the night.

    The harmony is far too great,
    That governs all her body fair,
    For impotence to analyse
    And say which note is sweetest there.

    O mystic metamorphosis!
    My senses into one sense flow —
    Her voice makes perfume when she speaks,
    Her breath is music faint and low!”

    An expression of love, adoration, and desire, of beauty that transcends mortal desire and piques the interest of hell itself: attar of rose, calla lily, palmarosa, peach blossom, wisteria, rice flower, and black musk.

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  • The Witch Queen

    On a rocky mountain pass, on the southernmost slopes of Mount Belly, the witch-queen reined in her goat-drawn chariot and stopped and sniffed the chilly air.

    The myriad stars hung cold in the sky above her.

    Her red, red lips curved up into a smile of such beauty, such brilliance, such pure and perfect happiness that it would have frozen your blood in your veins to have seen it. “There,” she said. “She is coming to me.”

    And the wind of the mountain pass howled about her triumphantly, as if in answer.

    Wild plum, red musk, tuberose, calla lily, heliotrope, pimento, ylang ylang and beeswax beneath a dark haze of sinister purple-hued incense smoke.

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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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  • Witchblade

    Antediluvian, sacred metal, glowing red musk, blessed frankincense, and antiqued amber.

    The Witchblade perfume was created to layer seamlessly with Sara Pezzini’s scent, and is made to be worn with all of the future Black Phoenix scents inspired by Witchblade wielders.

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  • Zorya Vechernyaya

    “You see, I am the only one of us who brings in any money. The other two cannot make money fortune-telling. This is because they only tell the truth, and the truth is not what people want to hear. It is a bad thing, and it troubles people, so they do not come back. But I can lie to them, tell them what they want to hear. So I bring home the bread.”

    Red musk and wild plum, orange blossom and jasmine, juniper berries, sweet incense and vetiver-laced sandalwood.

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