Vanilla

  • 13

    13 is significant, whether you consider it lucky, unlucky or just plain odd. Many believe it to be unfortunate…

    …because there were 13 present at the Last Supper.
    …Loki crashed a party of 12 at Valhalla, which ended in Baldur’s death.
    …Oinomaos killed 13 of Hippodamia’s suitors before Pelops finally, in his own shady way, defeated the jealous king.
    …In ancient Rome, Hecate’s witches gathered in groups of 12, the Goddess herself being the 13th in the coven.

    Concern over the number thirteen echoes back beyond the Christian era. Line 13 was omitted form the Code of Hammurabi.

    The shivers over Friday the 13th also have some interesting origins:

    …Christ was allegedly crucified on Friday the 13th.
    …On Friday, October 13, 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrests of Jaques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and sixty of his senior knights.
    …In British custom, hangings were held on Fridays, and there were 13 steps on the gallows leading to the noose.

    To combat the superstition, Robert Ingersoll and the Thirteen Club held thirteen-men dinners during the 19th Century. Successful? Hardly. The number still invokes trepidation to this day. A recent whimsical little serial killer study showed that the following murderers all have names that total thirteen letters:

    Theodore Bundy
    Jeffrey Dahmer
    Albert De Salvo
    John Wayne Gacy

    And, with a little stretch of the imagination, you can also fit “Jack the Ripper” and “Charles Manson” into that equation.

    More current-era paranoia: modern schoolchildren stop their memorization of the multiplication tables at 12. There were 13 Plutonium slugs in the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. Apollo 13 wasn’t exactly the most successful space mission. All of these are things that modern triskaidekaphobes point to when justifying their fears.

    For some, 13 is an extremely fortuitous and auspicious number…

    …In Jewish tradition, God has 13 Attributes of Mercy. Also, there were 13 tribes of Israel, 13 principles of Jewish faith, and 13 is considered the age of maturity.
    …The ancient Egyptians believed that there were 12 stages of spiritual achievement in this lifetime, and a 13th beyond death.
    …The word for thirteen, in Chinese, sounds much like the word which means “must be alive”.

    Thirteen, whether you love it or loathe it, is a pretty cool number all around.

    …In some theories of relativity, there are 13 dimensions.
    …It is a prime number, lucky number, star number, Wilson Prime, and Fibonacci number.
    …There are 13 Archimedean solids.

    AND…
    …There were 13 original colonies when the United States were founded.

    Says a lot about the US, doesn’t it?

    During this distinctly ill-omened time, we’ve constructed a scent comprised of thirteen comforting, soothing notes, including three chocolates, coffee husk, molasses, smoked sugar cane, rum absolute, almond, cozy cardamom, black sage, coconut meat, red benzoin, and bourbon vanilla pod.

  • 13

    13 is significant, whether you consider it lucky, unlucky or just plain odd. Many believe it to be unfortunate…

    …because there were 13 present at the Last Supper.
    …Loki crashed a party of 12 at Valhalla, which ended in Baldur’s death.
    …Oinomaos killed 13 of Hippodamia’s suitors before Pelops finally, in his own shady way, defeated the jealous king.
    …In ancient Rome, Hecate’s witches gathered in groups of 12, the Goddess herself being the 13th in the coven.

    Concern over the number thirteen echoes back beyond the Christian era. Line 13 was omitted form the Code of Hammurabi.

    The shivers over Friday the 13th also have some interesting origins:

    …Christ was allegedly crucified on Friday the 13th.
    …On Friday, October 13, 1307, King Philip IV of France ordered the arrests of Jaques de Molay, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, and sixty of his senior knights.
    …In British custom, hangings were held on Fridays, and there were 13 steps on the gallows leading to the noose.

    To combat the superstition, Robert Ingersoll and the Thirteen Club held thirteen-men dinners during the 19th Century. Successful? Hardly. The number still invokes trepidation to this day. A recent whimsical little serial killer study showed that the following murderers all have names that total thirteen letters:

    Theodore Bundy
    Jeffrey Dahmer
    Albert De Salvo
    John Wayne Gacy

    And, with a little stretch of the imagination, you can also fit “Jack the Ripper” and “Charles Manson” into that equation.

    More current-era paranoia: modern schoolchildren stop their memorization of the multiplication tables at 12. There were 13 Plutonium slugs in the atomic bomb that was dropped on Nagasaki. Apollo 13 wasn’t exactly the most successful space mission. All of these are things that modern triskaidekaphobes point to when justifying their fears.

    For some, 13 is an extremely fortuitous and auspicious number…

    …In Jewish tradition, God has 13 Attributes of Mercy. Also, there were 13 tribes of Israel, 13 principles of Jewish faith, and 13 is considered the age of maturity.
    …The ancient Egyptians believed that there were 12 stages of spiritual achievement in this lifetime, and a 13th beyond death.
    …The word for thirteen, in Chinese, sounds much like the word which means “must be alive”.

    Thirteen, whether you love it or loathe it, is a pretty cool number all around.

    …In some theories of relativity, there are 13 dimensions.
    …It is a prime number, lucky number, star number, Wilson Prime, and Fibonacci number.
    …There are 13 Archimedean solids.

    AND…
    …There were 13 original colonies when the United States were founded.

    Says a lot about the US, doesn’t it?

    Thirteen sugars, honeys, and vanillas dusted with chocolate to help you combat ill-fortune with the raw power of overwhelming sweetness.  

  • 2013: Steel Phoenix

    On November 22 – thanks to our brilliant, beautiful Web Goddess, Kaitlin – the Thirteenth Labor of Hercules was completed, and we were able to introduce our new web site design. Kaitlin, you are amazing and we love you.

    2013 ushered in our Dark Crystal Skeksi series, our Gatekeeper scent for Lone Shark’s Maze of Games, the Miskatonic Valley Philharmonic (with special thanks to Erich Zann, Principal Conductor and Music Director, and the illustrious Aylesbury Star Cult Temple Choir), Black Phoenix Trading Post’s sculpture for Neil Gaiman’s All Hallow’s Read, and the Festival, a Yuletide homage to Lovecraft.

    This year also brought BPAL and Haute Macabre together for our first collaboration. Samantha, you are an inspiration, and it is a joy working with you.

    Witching time in the hills of Arkham: patchouli and bourbon vanilla, crumbling autumn leaves, sweet black vetiver, and a thin, grey sliver of bonfire smoke.

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  • 2017: Crystal Phoenix

    Fifteen goddamn years. We’re impossible to kill, and we have kept on fighting the good fight with a panoply of scents benefiting environmental, constitutional rights, and reproductive rights causes, including Lordy, Alternative Facts, Fake News, Nevertheless She Persisted, Theoi Nomioi, and Take A Knee. We released several single notes benefiting those affected by 2017’s natural disasters, and introduced Spiced Rum Buttercream Coffee and Irish Coffee Buttercream, which benefit the National Center for Transgender Equality.

    To celebrate the premiere of Starz’s American Gods TV series, we revamped and expanded Neil Gaiman’s American Gods perfume line with brand new scents, a range of nail lacquers, and brand new artwork by the inimitable Julie Dillon.

    In June of 2017, Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Brian Constantine got hitched! The ceremony and reception were held at the Mountain View Mausoleum, and was the most beautiful wedding that I have ever seen. 

    The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. An earthy scent, with deep, deep roots, bringing stability and security in tumultuous times: 15-year aged patchouli, bourbon vanilla, oakmoss, Himalayan cedar, tobacco leaf, birch tar, tonka bean, and leather accord.

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  • A Hailstorm of Knitting-Needles

    “At a late period in the evening, after nearly three hours of experiment, Mrs Hayden having risen, and talking at another table while taking refreshment, a child suddenly called out, ‘Will all the spirits who have been here this evening rap together?’ The words were no sooner uttered than a hailstorm of knitting-needles was heard, crowded into certainly less than two seconds; the big needle sounds of the men, and the little ones of the women and children, being clearly distinguishable, but perfectly disorderly in their arrival.”

    – Augustus de Morgan

    Polished mahogany and black tea with a clatter of vanilla husk and oak wood.

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  • A Mirror of Spring Pleasures on Kites

    Pink strawberry, gardenia, blackberry wine, vanilla frankincense, and champaca absolute.

  • A Sublime Beauty

    White rose, orris absolute, warm tonka, bergamot, bourbon vanilla, and patchouli.

  • About Midnight

    About midnight will I goe out into the midst of Egypt. And all the first borne in the lande of Egypt shall die, from the first borne of Pharaoh, that sitteth vpon his throne, euen vnto the first borne of the maid seruant that is behind the mill, and all the first borne of beasts.  And there shall bee a great crie throughout all the land of Egypt, such as there was none like it, nor shall bee like it any more.

    Judgement rendered: vanillic sandalwood, holy balsam, cedar, and frankincense.

  • Aelian’s Phoenix

    The Phoinix knows how to reckon five hundred years without the aid of arithmetic, for it is a pupil of all-wise nature, so that it has no need of fingers or anything else to aid it in the understanding of numbers. The purpose of this knowledge and the need for it are matters of common report. But hardly a soul among the Aigyptoi knows when the five-hundred-year period is completed; only a very few know, and they belong to the priestly order. But in fact the priests have difficulty in agreeing on these points, and banter one another and maintain that it is not now but at some date later than when it was due that the divine bird will arrive. Meantime while they are vainly squabbling, the bird miraculously guesses the period by signs and appears. And the priests are obliged to give way and confess that thy devote their time ‘to putting the sun to rest with their talk’; but they do not know as much as birds. But, in God’s name, is it not wise to know where Aigyptos is situated, where Heliopolis whither the bird is destined to come, and where it must bury its father and in what kind of coffin?

    Golden amber and patchouli with fiery peppercorn, cocoa, white cedar, neroli, vanilla pod, and frankincense.

  • Alabaster Vulva

    White amber and sheer vanilla, orris butter, Italian bergamot, and narcissus.

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  • Alisz

    Spun sugar, frankincense, white rose, mallow root, red currant, and vanilla mint.

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  • Allegory of Chastity

    Giorgio Barbarelli da Castelfranco

    Blushing rosehips, pink rose petals, and vanilla cream with white jasmine and a drop of bergamot.

  • Alternative Facts

    The truth hurts — so why tell it? Muffle the blow with Alternative Facts.

    For example:

    FACT: Following White House advisor Kellyanne Conway’s January 22 appearance on “Meet The Press,” sales of George Orwell’s 1984 skyrocketed, making it the fifth-best selling book on Amazon.com.

    ALTERNATIVE FACT: In under a week, President Trump’s administration has already managed to improve literacy, reflecting the public’s renewed interest in privatized education, as well as its rejection of the mainstream media in favor of more “traditional” forms of information-gathering.

    See how easy that is? With the help of Alternative Facts, even the most unpalatable among us can preside over a gallery of glittering, candy-coated delusions — one in which reality itself conforms to our beliefs, sincerely-held or otherwise.

    ALTERNATIVE FACTS: If you truly want to obfuscate what you really smell like, this is the scent for you! Sugar-crusted vanilla, a firecracker-blast of cherry and sour lemon, a hint of scuttling spiders, encroaching fog, and trumpets of bombast, bluff, and bluster.

    Like its companion scent Fake News, proceeds from Alternative Facts will benefit the ACLU.

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  • Apple Butter Rum

    Spiced rum with cinnamon, apple butter, nutmeg, and thick vanilla cream.

  • Apple I

    Apple with hay absolute, oats, honey, cream vanilla, and goat’s milk accord.

  • Apple III

    Appalachian black apple with sweet tobacco and patchouli, orange blossom, vanilla champaca, lavender, and white honey.

  • Apple IV

    Red apple with blackcurrant bud, black clove, and vanilla bourbon.

  • Ashlultum

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

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  • Australian Copperhead

    Snake Oil with acai berry, amber, cardamom, white sandalwood, neroli, and smoked vanilla.

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  • Ava

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

    Out of Stock
  • 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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  • Bast

    There was a girl. He had met her somewhere, and now they were walking across a bridge. It spanned a small lake, in the middle of a town. The wind was ruffling the surface of the lake, making waves tipped with whitecaps, which seemed to Shadow to be tiny hands reaching for him.

    — Down there, said the woman. She was wearing a leopard-print skirt, which flapped and tossed in the wind, and the flesh between the top of her stockings and her skirt was creamy and soft and in his dream, on the bridge, before God and the world, Shadow went down to his knees in front of her, burying his head in her crotch, drinking in the intoxicating jungle female scent of her. He became aware, in his dream, of his erection in real life, a rigid, pounding, monstrous thing as painful in its hardness as the erections he’d had as a boy, when he was crashing into puberty.

    He pulled away and looked upward, and still he could not see her face. But his mouth was seeking hers and her lips were soft against his, and his hands were cupping her breasts, and then they were running across the satin smoothness of her skin, pushing into and parting the furs that hid her waist, sliding into the wonderful cleft of her, which warmed and wetted and parted for him, opening to his hand like a flower.

    The woman purred against him ecstatically, her hand moving down to the hardness of him and squeezing it. He pushed the bedsheets away and rolled on top of her, his hand parting her thighs, her hand guiding him between her legs, where one thrust, one magical push . . .

    Now he was back in his old prison cell with her, and he was kissing her deeply. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, clamped her legs about his legs to hold him tight, so he could not pull out, not even if he wanted to.

    Never had he kissed lips so soft. He had not known that there were lips so soft in the whole world. Her tongue, though, was sandpaper-rough as it slipped against his.

    —Who are you? he asked.

    She made no answer, just pushed him onto his back and, in one lithe movement, straddled him and began to ride him. No, not to ride him: to insinuate herself against him in series of silken-smooth waves, each more powerful than the one before, strokes and beats and rhythms that crashed against his mind and his body just as the wind-waves on the lake splashed against the shore. Her nails were needle-sharp and they pierced his sides, raking them, but he felt no pain, only pleasure, everything was transmuted by some alchemy into moments of utter pleasure.

    He struggled to find himself, struggled to talk, his head now filled with sand dunes and desert winds.

    —Who are you? he asked again, gasping for the words.

    She stared at him with eyes the color of dark amber, then lowered her mouth to his and kissed him with a passion, kissed him so completely and so deeply that there, on the bridge over the lake, in his prison cell, in the bed in the Cairo funeral home, he almost came. He rode the sensation like a kite riding a hurricane, willing it not to crest, not to explode, wanting it never to end.

    A desert wind alight with myrrh and golden amber, cardamom and honey, bourbon vanilla and cacao.

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  • Battle Fairy in Training

    Lilith loves her kung fu classes. She loves her sifu, she loves the exercises, she loves practicing her forms. (She’s alright with the meditation aspect, but let’s be real: she’s a kid, and would rather be doing somersaults.) This year, she attained her blue belt, and this scent was created to commemorate her achievement. Baby, I am so proud of you. You worked so hard, and it paid off. I am always, always proud of you.

    This Battle Fairy smells like blue cotton candy, strawberries, a plop of vanilla icing and a bit of crushed peppermint candy.

  • Beauty, The Aggrieved

    A white rose draped by a delicate, pale, sheer veil of vanilla, the depth and darkness of her black lace embodied by tobacco absolute, Indonesian patchouli, Bulgarian oakmoss, frankincense, white sandalwood, and myrrh.

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  • Belle Époque

    “The Pretty Era”, France’s Golden Time: an age of beauty, innovation and peace in France that lasted from the 19th Century through the first World War and gave birth to the cabaret, the cancan, and the cinema as well as the Impressionist and Art Nouveau movements. Sweet opium, Lily of the Valley, vanilla, mandarin and red sandalwood.

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  • Belle Vinu

    There was once a very rich merchant, who had six children, three boys and three girls. As he was himself a man of great sense, he spared no expense for their education. The three daughters were all handsome, but particularly the youngest; indeed, she was so very beautiful, that in her childhood every one called her the Little Beauty; and being equally lovely when she was grown up, nobody called her by any other name, which made her sisters very jealous of her. This youngest daughter was not only more handsome than her sisters, but also was better tempered. The two eldest were vain of their wealth and position. They gave themselves a thousand airs, and refused to visit other merchants' daughters; nor would they condescend to be seen except with persons of quality. They went every day to balls, plays, and public walks, and always made game of their youngest sister for spending her time in reading or other useful employments. As it was well known that these young ladies would have large fortunes, many great merchants wished to get them for wives; but the two eldest always answered, that, for their parts, they had no thoughts of marrying any one below a duke or an earl at least. Beauty had quite as many offers as her sisters, but she always answered, with the greatest civility, that though she was much obliged to her lovers, she would rather live some years longer with her father, as she thought herself too young to marry.

    It happened that, by some unlucky accident, the merchant suddenly lost all his fortune, and had nothing left but a small cottage in the country. Upon this he said to his daughters, while the tears ran down his cheeks, “My children, we must now go and dwell in the cottage, and try to get a living by labour, for we have no other means of support.” The two eldest replied that they did not know how to work, and would not leave town; for they had lovers enough who would be glad to marry them, though they had no longer any fortune. But in this they were mistaken; for when the lovers heard what had happened, they said, “The girls were so proud and ill-tempered, that all we wanted was their fortune: we are not sorry at all to see their pride brought down: let them show off their airs to their cows and sheep.” But everybody pitied poor Beauty, because she was so sweet-tempered and kind to all, and several gentlemen offered to marry her, though she had not a penny; but Beauty still refused, and said she could not think of leaving her poor father in this trouble. At first Beauty could not help sometimes crying in secret for the hardships she was now obliged to suffer; but in a very short time she said to herself, “All the crying in the world will do me no good, so I will try to be happy without a fortune.”

    Red sandalwood, vanilla, rosewood, osmanthus, and white peach.

    Out of Stock
  • Beneath the Kotatsu

    Cedarwood, orange blossom, Florentine iris, and golden vanilla.

  • Between Your Heart and Mine

    … I find myself thinking of you – at the most inopportune moments of the day. I feel as if a link – a thread exists between your heart and mine… And that, should that link be broken by distance or time… Well – I fear my heart would cease to beat and die… and you’d soon forget about me.

    Heartwood bois de rose and vanilla-touched rose.

  • Blacker than the Raven Wings of Midnight

    Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her head, unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had confined it, and there streamed forth, into the rushing atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses of long and dishevelled hair; it was blacker than the raven wings of the midnight! And now slowly opened the eyes of the figure which stood before me. “Here then, at least,” I shrieked aloud, “can I never –can I never be mistaken –these are the full, and the black, and the wild eyes –of my lost love –of the lady –of the LADY LIGEIA.”

     The scent of Ligeia reborn: black tea leaf fougere with black sandalwood, opalescent vanilla, osmanthus,  18-year aged Indonesian patchouli, and the suggestion of ancient incense smoke.

  • Blood Kiss Bonbon

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

  • Blossoming Vulva

    Golden amber and bourbon vanilla with sweet oak, blue lotus, and tea blossom.

  • Boober

    According to Boober Fraggle, there are only two things certain in this world: death and laundry. Boober is terrified by the former and fascinated by the latter. He is also paranoid and superstitious. According to Boober, anything that can go wrong surely will, and when it does, it will inevitably happen to him.

    A fretfully clean scent: freshly-washed laundry, linden blossom, soap suds, and a sprinkle of vanilla.

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  • Placeholder

    Butterflies, Flowers, and Jewels Attending

    Take the Fair Face of Woman, and Gently Suspending,
    With Butterflies, Flowers, and Jewels Attending,
    Thus Your Fairy is Made of Most Beautiful Things

    Inspired by the moment in time frozen in this photo – my fairy child, laughing and playing amongst gargantuan flowers. An ethereal, iridescent, twilit scent, sparkling with mystery and innocent joy: white patchouli with provence rose, delicate freesia, pink tuberose, jasmine sambac, orange blossom, butterfly musk, vanilla orchid, and delicate spices.

  • Caressing the Wild Rabbit

    White tea, honeycomb, vanilla orchid, and a drop of soft sandalwood.

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  • Carnaval Diabolique

    Straight from the twisted alleys of Dis, by way of the City of Angels: opium smoke, lemon flower, heliotrope, tuberose, black musk, vanilla, coconut, apricot flower.

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  • Cascading Blossoms

    White gardenia, frangipani, rose peony, plumeria, and vanilla orchid.

  • Cemetery Creep

    This summer, Brian got married at the Mountain View Mausoleum. As a side benefit, the Barrials got to spend hours skulking around its beautiful, cavernous halls in the weeks leading up to the event. Lilith loves the vast quietness of the mausoleum almost as much as she enjoys playing tag in the cemetery, and wandered the halls doing impromptu math equations to figure out how old people were when they passed.

    I love this little cemetery creep with all my cobwebby heart.

    Marble-white musk, orris root, and vanilla blossom.

  • Chaos Theory VII: Gourmand

    Sweet vanillas, thick chocolates, burnt caramels, and spun sugars.

  • Chaos Theory VII: Oriental

    These scents possess sensual, languid bases, including amber, benzoin, tonka, balsams, and dark, warm vanillas.

  • Chattering Teeth

    Electric cherry and iced vanilla.

  • Comparison of Celebrated Beauties

    Vanilla cream, mimosa, and almond blossom.

  • Crowley

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

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

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

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  • Cytherea

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

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  • Daybreak

    Just a photo of Lilith and Pickle that I took one morning. I love this little human so, so much.

    Last night’s lavender drops and a whiff of Pickle’s vanilla coconut pupper shampoo.

  • De Vos’ Unicorn

    Maerten de Vos

    Sugared peony and rose-tinted vanilla with mallow, white musk, lavender buds, and a touch of apricot.

  • Death Adder

    Snake Oil with vetiver, black coconut, vanilla, and opoponax.

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  • Death Shall Come in with Thee

    Now, ballad, gather poppies in thine hands
    And sheaves of brier and many rusted sheaves
    Rain-rotten in rank lands,
    Waste marigold and late unhappy leaves
    And grass that fades ere any of it be mown;
    And when thy bosom is filled full thereof
    Seek out Death’s face ere the light altereth,
    And say “My master that was thrall to Love
    Is become thrall to Death.”
    Bow down before him, ballad, sigh and groan.
    But make no sojourn in thy outgoing;
    For haply it may be
    That when thy feet return at evening
    Death shall come in with thee.

    Opium poppy, smoke, and tar with green cognac, brittle white vanilla pod, white sandalwood, and clove bud.

  • Defututa

    Good Gods, what a night that was,
    The bed was so soft, and how we clung,
    Burning together, lying this way and that,
    Our uncontrollable passions
    Flowing through our mouths.
    If I could only die that way,
    I’d say goodbye to the business of living.

    Olive blossom, honey, smoky vanilla, cinnamon, jasmine, sandalwood, and champaca flower.

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  • Desert Places

    Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
    In a field I looked into going past,
    And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
    But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

    The woods around it have it – it is theirs.
    All animals are smothered in their lairs.
    I am too absent-spirited to count;
    The loneliness includes me unawares.

    And lonely as it is, that loneliness
    Will be more lonely ere it will be less –
    A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
    WIth no expression, nothing to express.

    They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
    Between stars – on stars where no human race is.
    I have it in me so much nearer home
    To scare myself with my own desert places.
    – Robert Frost

    A blanker whiteness of benighted snow: white sandalwood, dry vanilla, white tea leaf, and orris.

  • 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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  • Desire Bonbon

    Belgian chocolate with neroli, black patchouli and black musk, gilded by apple, bergamot, blood red rose, teak, and vanilla.

  • Destructive Vagina of the Fox Spirit

    Vanilla orchid, black amber, coffee bean, labdanum, champaca, and oudh.

  • Detestable Putrescence

    Inspired by Gris Grimly’s illustrations for the Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar.

    Melty vanilla ice cream!

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  • Do All the Good You Can

    Lilith has been involved with our humanitarian and philanthropic work for several years, helping with fundraising events like our food, toy, and feminine napkin drives; she has taken the initiative a few times now, setting up her own fundraisers for the UNHCR and Pasadena Humane Society. This year, we decided that she’s old enough to do the footwork, and she volunteered with us twice in serving those currently experiencing homelessness. This photo is from Christmas Day 2017: Lilith spent several hours helping us distribute food, toiletries, and sleeping bags in Hollywood.

    Madagascar vanilla and sweet patchouli with Yule pine, white fig, and almond blossom.

  • Dorian

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

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

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  • Dragon’s Milk

    A truly fae nectar! Dragon’s blood resin and honeyed vanilla.

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  • Dragon’s Musk

    Dominant, passionate, devastating. Dragon’s blood and five deep musks.

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  • Eat Me

    Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words ‘EAT ME’ were beautifully marked in currants.

    ‘Well, I’ll eat it,’ said Alice, ‘and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I’ll get into the garden, and I don’t care which happens!’ 

    She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, ‘Which way? Which way?’, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.

    Three white cakes, vanilla, and red and black currants.

    BPAL’s Eat Me is not for eating. Please use common sense, and remember: perfume oils are for external use only.

    Out of Stock
  • Eclipse

    All the glory, warmth and majesty of the sun — darkened. A delicious blend of bitter almond, vanilla, frankincense and heliotrope, with a drop of cinnamon.

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  • Edith Cushing

    Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind: pearlescent vanilla musk with white sandalwood, grey amber, white patchouli, ambrette seed, and oudh.

  • 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.

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  • Euphrosyne

    Mirth

    Gardenia, tea rose, vanilla and jasmine.

    Out of Stock
  • Fairy Thorn

    “Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel;
    For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep;
    Come up above the crags, and we’ll dance a Highland reel
    Around the Fairy Thorn on the steep.”     

     At Anna Grace’s door ’twas thus the maidens cried,
    Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;
    And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,
    The fairest of the four, I ween.    

    They’re glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve,
    Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare;
    The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,
    And the crags in the ghostly air.  

    And linking hand-in-hand, and singing as they go,
    The maids along the hillside have ta’en their fearless way,
    Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow
    Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.  

    The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim,
    Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;
    The rowan berries cluster o’er her low head grey and dim
    In ruddy kisses sweet to see.             

    The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,
    Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem,
    And away in mazes wavy, like skimming birds they go,
    Oh, never carolled bird like them!            

    But solemn is the silence on the silvery haze
    That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,
    And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes,
    And dreamier the gloaming grows.           

    And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky,
    When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw,
    Are hushed the maidens’ voices, as cowering down they lie
    In the flutter of their sudden awe.           

    For, from the air above and the grassy ground beneath,
    And from the mountain-ashes and the old white-thorn between,
    A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe,
    And they sink down together on the green.           

    They sink together silent, and stealing side to side,
    They fling their lovely arms o’er their drooping necks so fair,
    Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,
    For their shrinking necks again are bare.           

    Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed,
    Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound—
    They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd,
    Like a river in the air gliding round.          

    Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say,
    But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three—
    For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,
    By whom they dare not look to see.         

    They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold,
    And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws.
    They feel her sliding arms from their trancèd arms unfold,
    But they dare not look to see the cause;  

    For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies
    Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze
    And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes,
    Or their limbs from the cold ground raise; 

    Till out of night the earth has rolled her dewy side,
    With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;
    When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morningtide,
    The maiden’s trance dissolveth so.                 

    Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,
    And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain—
    They pined away and died within the year and day,
    And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again.

    —Samuel Ferguson

     Drawn away by the spirits, never to be seen again: an eerie veil of vanilla musk twirled with tuberose, Siamese red benzoin, cassis flower, Irish moss, white sandalwood, plum nectar, violet leaf, and apple petals.

  • Faiza, The Lady of Serpents

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

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

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  • Festival Orgy

    Soft mosses, lotus petals, bamboo wood, ylang ylang, and vanilla sandalwood.

  • Fortuna Balnearis

    The Fortunes of Health and Well-Being

    A hymn for good health and protection of the vulnerable: orange blossom honey, vanilla husk, green stem sap, and a drop of King mandarin.

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  • Fortuna Felix

    The Joys of Good Fortune

    A hymn to laughter, joy, and merriment: blood orange and champaca bubbling with blonde tobacco, osmanthus, sweet clove, and vanilla.

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  • Fortuna Liberum

    The Fortunes of Children

    A hymn to the safety and freedom of children that they may prosper in health and wild joy: sweet vanilla tousled with orange blossom, blood orange peel, and a squirt of strawberry juice.

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  • From You I Have Been Absent in the Spring

    From you have I been absent in the spring,
    When proud-pied April dress’d in all his trim
    Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
    That heavy Saturn laugh’d and leap’d with him.
    Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
    Of different flowers in odour and in hue
    Could make me any summer’s story tell,
    Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
    Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
    Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
    They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
    Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
    Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,
    As with your shadow I with these did play.
    – Sonnet 98, William Shakespeare

    White lilies, vermillion roses, vanilla orchid, sweet clove, white frankincense, velvety brown oudh, cistus, styrax, aged red patchouli, and a hint of black peppercorn.

  • Gas Masks and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

    My offspring loves crossbows, gas masks, and kittens. She loves unicorns and rainbows and rhinestones and glitter, insects and Spongebob and fart jokes and whoopee cushions. She has a Nerf arsenal that would make her great-great-great-great-great (so many greats) Grandpa Attila proud, and a sea of big-eyed, rainbow-poofy plushies you could (probably literally) drown in. She loves fashion dolls as much as she loves anatomical models, Legos as much as she loves jewelry, and Hamlet as much as she loves My Little Pony. I love the diversity of her interests, and that—over the years—she is finding peace with loving what she loves, regardless of what anyone else might think.

    Cotton candy and jellybeans with sugar cookie crumbles and vanilla frosting.

  • Gingerbread Snake

    Oh dear! I’m a quarter gone!

    Gingerbread and exotic Indonesian oils sugared with vanilla.

  • Gingerbread, Vanilla Sugar, and Pink Pepper

    I’ve run away from a little old woman,
    A little old man,
    A barn full of threshers,
    And I can run away from you, I can!

  • Golden Priapus

    Insatiable lust, unending vigor! A truly carnal, energetic men’s blend: vanilla and amber with juniper, rosewood and white pine.

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  • Good

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

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  • Green Tree Viper

    Snake Oil with four mints, bergamot, and green tea.

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  • Grooming Scene in a Brothel

    Vanilla saffron, carnation absolute, bois de rose, myrrh, and sandalwood incense.

  • Harper

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

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  • Hidden Pearls

    Iris root, gleaming orris, pearlescent white vanilla, sweet coconut milk, and pear stem.

  • 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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  • How Doth the Little Crocodile

    How doth the little crocodile
    Improve his shining tail,
    And pour the waters of the Nile
    On every golden scale!

    How cheerfully he seems to grin,
    How neatly spreads his claws,
    And welcomes little fishes in
    With gently smiling jaws!

    Chocolate peppermint, mint-soaked vanilla, pistachio, oakmoss, and green cedar.

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  • Humanite

    Tuberose, white peach, orange blossom, lemon peel, and caramelized vanilla.

  • Hunger

    Evokes sheer, unadulterated carnal lust. An undeniably warm and sensual scent. Black narcissus, orange blossoms, and vanilla.

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  • I Too Beneath Your Moon

    I too beneath your moon, almighty Sex,
    Go forth at nightfall crying like a cat,
    Leaving the lofty tower I laboured at
    For birds to foul and boys and girls to vex
    – Edna St. Vincent Millay

    Vanilla cream, white patchouli, French lavender, bergamot, and apple.

  • Imp Pack: Vanilla

    —Eat Me
    —Light of Men’s Lives
    —Lyonesse
    —Mouse’s Long and Sad Tale
    —O
    —White Rabbit

    Out of Stock
  • Impressions of the Floating World

    Vanilla silk, patchouli leaf, sweet benzoin, and smoked honey.

  • Inez

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

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  • Invitation

    White juniper, Italian cypress, and yew bush brushed by a veil of white rose, oudh, armoise, lavender, and vanilla sandalwood.

  • Kubla Khan

    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree:
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.

    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round:
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
    But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
    A savage place! as holy and enchanted
    As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced:
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
    And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
    And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war!

    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw:
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
    That with music loud and long
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread,
    For he on honey-dew hath fed
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.

    Through sunlit caves of ice, roses unfurl amidst dancing waves of serpentine opium smoke and amber tobacco, golden sandalwood, champaca, tea leaf, sugared lily, ginger, rich hay absolute, leather, dark vanilla, mandarin, peru balsam, and Moroccan jasmine.

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  • L’Agonie

    Apricot and blood orange with dragon’s blood absolute, golden vanilla, chamomile, white honey, and oudh.

  • La Calavera Catrina

    The Lady of the Graveyard! Autumn leaves, wild roses, bourbon vanilla, dry chamomile, and a bouquet of bright chrysanthemums and Mexican marigolds.

  • La Prostitution et la Folie Dominent le Monde

    Sweet cream vanilla, white sugar, jasmine blossom, and a drop of star anise.

  • Lamia

    ‘And you said you’d pay me for being your guide. And it’s what I want, as my payment. Warmth. Can I have some?’ Anything she wanted. Anything. The honeysuckle and the lily of the valley wrapped around him, and his eyes saw nothing but her pale skin and her dark plum-bloom lips and her jet black hair.

    Deadly elegance: pale orchid, vanilla amber, black currant, white peach, champaca, coconut, Arabian myrrh, Burmese vetiver, and oude.

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  • Le Miroir de la Coquetterie

    Honeyed vanilla and jasmine petals dirtied by labdanum, patchouli, and vetiver.

  • Le Serpent Qui Danse

    When, as by glaciers ground, the spate
    Swells hissing from beneath,
    The water of your mouth, elate,
    Rises between your teeth —

    It seems some old Bohemian vintage
    Triumphant, fierce, and tart,
    A liquid heaven that showers a mintage
    Of stars across my heart.

    A sinister, darkly seductive scent inspired by poetry of Charles Baudelaire. Violet entwined with vanilla and gardenia.

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  • Liebeszauber

    Artist Unknown
    Honey, rose petals, and carnations – a drop of blood – red clover, cubeb berries, and vanilla cream.

  • Like the Flashing of Light

    His flight was like the flashing of light, his plumage was beauteous, and his song ravishing: fire-yellow amber, neroli, frangipani, king mandarin, white honey, and saffron vanilla.

  • Placeholder

    Little Pythia

    Ever since toddler’dom, Lilith has had a thing for tarot cards. What kid wouldn’t? They’re big, they’re colorful, and each of them has a story to tell. She has her own decks now (Rider Waite and Thoth), but she still steals mine all the time.

    This pic was accidental, and, to me, hilarious. She was playing with her Thoth deck when out of nowhere, she grabbed these cards and smooshed them on her cheeks. I’m not sure why she did it, but I’m hella glad I had a camera handy! (Channeling Uncle Al, perhaps?)

    An incense for a budding baby magus: vanilla frankincense and rose champaca with a little bit of red licorice.

  • Liz

    A light, feminine vanilla floral perfume and a swirl of smoke and leather.

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  • Love and Sleep

    Lying asleep between the strokes of night
    I saw my love lean over my sad bed,
    Pale as the duskiest lily’s leaf or head,
    Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite,
    Too wan for blushing and too warm for white,
    But perfect-coloured without white or red.
    And her lips opened amorously, and said –
    I wist not what, saving one word – Delight.

    And all her face was honey to my mouth,
    And all her body pasture to mine eyes;
    The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire
    The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
    The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
    And glittering eyelids of my soul’s desire.
    – Algernon Swinburne

    Fig milk, vanilla, orchid, and ylang ylang.

  • Love’s Philosophy

    The fountains mingle with the river,
    And the rivers with the ocean;
    The winds of heaven mix forever,
    With a sweet emotion;
    Nothing in the world is single;
    All things by a law divine
    In one another's being mingle; —
    Why not I with thine?
    See! the mountains kiss high heaven,
    And the waves clasp one another;
    No sister flower would be forgiven,
    If it disdained it's brother;
    And the sunlight clasps the earth,
    And the moonbeams kiss the sea; —
    What are all these kissings worth,
    If thou kiss not me?
    – Percy Bysshe Shelley

    Vanilla, saffron, and cream.

  • Lovers at the Entrance to a House of Pleasure Spied on by a Kamuro Through the Hanging Curtain

    White gardenia, oakmoss, champaca blossom, magnolia leaf, vanilla orchid, and tobacco absolute.

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  • Lyonesse

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

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

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  • Mars Ultor

    Mars the Avenger

    Black amber and smoky vanilla with cistus, benzoin, caramelized tobacco, and blackened nutmeg.

  • Mata Hari

    A renowned exotic dancer and courtesan, possessed of aristocratic elegance, matchless charm, an iron will and a streak of fearlessness. The actual events of her life have met with much speculation, and to this day it is unclear whether or not she was truly a German spy. Despite shaky evidence of her guilt, she was tried for espionage by a closed court-martial and was executed by a French firing squad in 1917.

    Her scent is striking and bold with a delicate yet dark undertone: five roses with soft jasmine, warmed by vanilla, fig, tonka bean and mahogany, spiced with a drop of coffee bean

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  • Mermaid

    Peter was not with them for the moment, and they felt rather lonely up there by themselves. He could go so much faster than they that he would suddenly shoot out of sight, to have some adventure in which they had no share.

    He would come down laughing over something fearfully funny he had been saying to a star, but he had already forgotten what it was, or he would come up with mermaid scales still sticking to him, and yet not be able to to say for certain what had been happening.

    It was really rather irritating to children who had never seen a mermaid.
    ― JM Barrie, Peter Pan

    Lilith, I hope you never stop seeing mermaids. I hope your invisible friends always sing with you, and that the ghosts in your attic tell you stories every night. I hope you never forget how to dream, and I hope you never forget why dreams matter.

    A tiny siren’s perfume of pink seaweed, lotus petals, Tahitian tiare, white gardenia, orange blossom, sea salt, and vanilla-infused benzoin.

  • Montes Harbinger

    The Harbinger of the Dawn: shimmering mugwort-infused crystalline musk painted by a glowing arc of sheer vanilla, pink grapefruit, honeyed benzoin, almond blossom, tangerine rind, rose water, green cognac, and neroli.

  • Moons of Jupiter: Europa

    A smooth vanilla myrrh, streaked with cracks of java vetiver, styrax, and coffee absolute.

  • Mouse Circus

    In the flat above Coraline’s, under the roof, was a crazy old man with a big mustache. He told Coraline that he was training a mouse circus. He wouldn’t let anyone see it.

    “One day, little Caroline, when they are all ready, everyone in the whole world will see the wonders of my mouse circus. You ask me why you cannot see it now. Is that what you asked me?”

    “No,” said Coraline quietly, “I asked you not to call me Caroline. It’s Coraline.”

    “The reason you cannot see the mouse circus,” said the man upstairs, “is that the mice are not yet ready and rehearsed. Also, they refuse to play the songs I have written for them. All the songs I have written for the mice to play go oompah oompah. But the white mice will only play toodle oodle, like that. I am thinking of trying them on different types of cheese.”

    A toodle oodle of pink cotton candy noses, vanilla spun sugar fur, scattered kernels of popcorn, and a touch of polished golden wood.

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  • Mouse’s Long and Sad Tale

    ‘Fury said to a
    mouse, That he
    met in the
    house,
    “Let us
    both go to
    law: I will
    prosecute
    YOU. –Come,
    I’ll take no
    denial; We
    must have a
    trial: For
    really this
    morning I’ve
    nothing
    to do.”
    Said the
    mouse to the
    cur, “Such
    a trial,
    dear Sir,
    With
    no jury
    or judge,
    would be
    wasting
    our
    breath.”
    “I’ll be
    judge, I’ll
    be jury,”
    Said
    cunning
    old Fury:
    “I’ll
    try the
    whole
    cause,
    and
    condemn
    you
    to
    d
    e
    a
    t
    h
    .”

    Vanilla, two ambers, sweet pea and white sandalwood.

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  • Mr. Ibis

    The smoke stung Shadow’s eyes. He wiped the tears away with his hand, and, through the smoke, he thought he saw a tall man in a suit, with gold-rimmed spectacles. The smoke cleared and the boatman was once more a half-human creature with the head of a river bird.

    Papyrus, vanilla flower, Egyptian musk, African musk, aloe ferox, white sandalwood.

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  • Nothing is Unexpected, Nothing is Foresworn

    Nothing is unexpected, nothing is foresworn and
    Nothing amazes now that father Zeus the Olympian
    veiled the light to make it night at midday
    even as sun was shining: so dread fear has overtaken men.
    From this time on everything that men believe
    will be doubted: may none of us who see this be surprised
    when we see forest beasts taking turns in the salted field
    with dolphins, when the echoing waves of the sea become
    Dearer to them than the sand, and the dolphins love the wooded glen
    – Archilochus

    Red amber and heady red wine, benzoin, ash, and bourbon vanilla.

  • Now Winter Nights Enlarge

    Now winter nights enlarge
    The number of their hours,
    And clouds their storms discharge
    Upon the airy towers.
    Let now the chimneys blaze,
    And cups o’erflow with wine;
    Let well-tuned words amaze
    With harmony divine.
    Now yellow waxen lights
    Shall wait on honey love,
    While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
    Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

    This time doth well dispense
    With lovers’ long discourse;
    Much speech hath some defence,
    Though beauty no remorse.
    All do not all things well;
    Some measures comely tread,
    Some knotted riddles tell,
    Some poems smoothly read.
    The summer hath his joys
    And winter his delights;
    Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
    They shorten tedious nights.

    Shorten those tedious nights with a surge of body heat: vanilla-infused red musk, champaca, petitgrain, ylang ylang, patchouli, nutmeg, honey, galbanum, and traces of caramel.

  • NYC Snowball Fight

    Last winter, we took Lilith to New York for the first time. We were en route to the march in Washington, DC, with our friends, and made a few pit stops on the way. This photo was taken a split second before I got snowballed in the face at the East 72nd Street Playground. The handsome devil in the background is one of Lilith’s best friends in the world, Kyle.

    Snowballs and vanilla ice cream.

  • O

    The scent of sexual obsession, slavery to sensual pleasure, and the undercurrent of innocence defiled utterly. Amber and honey with a touch of vanilla.

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  • OG BB

    Many years ago, Black Phoenix released a scent called Banshee Beat. We have 110 bottles left to sell of the remaining stock, and they’re releasing into the wild as OG BB. The bottles have matured beautifully; the patchouli note is richer, deeper, and lovelier than ever.

    A tousled, sexy mix of patchouli, vanilla, and hemp.

    **Because we know that so many people love this scent, Black Phoenix will be offering an updated version in our GC soon under an appropriately silly name, Revenant Rhythm.

  • Paladin

    Immaculate white musk, sweet frankincense, bourbon vanilla, white leather, and shining armor.

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  • Palmyra

    White as hot steel the broad sun mounts the skies,
    The burning vapors quivering as they rise.
    No beast, no wandering bird, doth hither come,
    Not e’en an insect wakes her drowsy hum.
    But lo! the hills on which some dark curse rests,
    Barren their sides, all rocks their dreary crests,
    Approach with frowns, and form a savage dell,
    Where snakes retreat, and vultures love to dwell.
    Silent and strange along this craggy way,
    Rise countless towers that brave thy hand, Decay!
    Did busy men once live, and flourish here,
    Their palaces yon piles so old and drear?
    Draw nearer,—scan each building’s dark recess;
    What mean those crumbling bones, that mouldered dress?
    Yes, these are tombs, as many a mummy shows,
    Where man in distant ages found repose;
    The street of graves! where kings laid down their pride,
    And many a restless phantom yet may glide:
    Murdered Longinus here may wander still,
    And she whose dust was laid by Tibur’s hill,
    Far-famed Zenobia, for her kingdom wail,
    Sweeping with viewless form the desert gale.

    Deserted Tadmor! queen of Syria’s wild!
    Well mayst thou fill with rapture Fancy’s child;
    Yet not by day—too garish, harsh, and rude—
    The eye should scan thy fairy solitude;
    But when the still moon pours her hallowing beam,
    And crumbling shrine and palace whitely gleam,
    Then pause beneath the lofty arch, and there
    Survey the mouldings rich and sculptures fair;
    See how like spectral giants columns stand,
    And cast long shadows o’er the yellow sand;
    How the soft light on marble tracery plays,
    And busts look life-like through that silvery haze!
    Tread the long colonnade, where Traffic’s throng,
    And chief and sage were wont to sweep along;
    Ruin on ruin mouldering, still and lone,
    Arch following arch, fane, massy wall o’erthrown,
    And still beyond, some line of columns gray,
    In long perspective stretching far away,—
    These will the stars in desolation show,
    Shedding o’er all a soft ethereal glow,
    Till beauty scarce of earth around us beams,
    And like the home of spirits, Tadmor seems.

    And are no dwellers here?—no beings found
    Within Palmyra’s wide and haunted bound?
    Yes, come and see—where Beauty, in old days,
    Touched her sweet harp, and blushed at her own praise;
    There rears the desert-bird her callow brood,
    And shrieks along the untrodden solitude.
    Yes, come and see—where kings in council sate
    On ivory thrones, mid all the pomp of state;
    There mopes the owl with shining sleepless eye,
    And growls the hyena, stealing slowly by.
    Commerce in Tadmor fixed her gorgeous seat;
    Her voice was heard through every busy street:
    The caravan brought gems from Persia’s shore,
    Tyre sent her cloths, and Ind her golden store;
    And this long ages saw, till Syria’s mart
    Drew and poured forth wealth’s streams,—a mighty heart!
    Now come and see—within yon pillared walls,
    Mid tottering shafts and broken capitals,
    Squalid and lorn, cut off from all mankind,
    In tattered garbs, to wretchedness consigned,
    A few poor Arabs crouch,—with senseless stare
    They view the pomp and beauty lingering there,
    Tend their lean goats, to Mecca idly bow,
    The only merchants, only princes now!

    City of Solomon! whose fame and power,
    And wondrous wealth, began in earth’s young hour;
    How, mid her fallen pomp, thought wanders back
    O’er vanished days,—a sad yet dazzling track.
    Arabia’s fierce and desolating horde,
    Rome’s conquering eagle, Babylonia’s sword,
    All we behold, but chief one form appears,
    Rising all radiant from the gulf of years:
    Proud is her step, her dark eye varying oft,
    Now flashing fire, now languishingly soft;
    The jewelled crown well suits that brow serene,—
    ’T is great Zenobia, Tadmor’s glorious queen.
    Beauty hath oft put War’s dread helmet on,
    Since her who ruled earth-conquering Babylon;
    Yet not Semiramis, who boasts her bays,
    Nor Gaul’s bold maid, who graced these later days,
    Swayed the rough hearts of men with wilder power,
    Or met more bravely battle’s dreadful hour,
    Than she on whom pleased fame and fortune smiled,
    The dark-haired mistress of the Syrian wild.

    But now the conqueror’s brighter hour has passed,
    And fair Zenobia’s star goes down at last.
    The Roman comes,—his legions file around
    Doomed Tadmor’s walls, to deafening trumpets’ sound.
    Aurelian bids the desert princess yield,
    But hark! her answer—clashing sword and shield!
    Girt by her chiefs, her proud plumed head she rears,
    Defies the foe, and each faint spirit cheers;
    Her milk-white courser prances round the wall,
    Her gestures, looks, and words inspiring all.
    Through opened gates her troops are sallying now,
    Still in their front appears that dauntless brow;
    Where’er her silver wand is seen to wave,
    There rush the boldest, and there fall the brave,
    And when borne back by Rome’s immense array,
    She fights retreating, pauses still to slay.

    But ceaseless war, and famine’s tortures slow,
    Wear bravery out, and bring Palmyra low.
    ’T was then the Queen, to crush the despot’s might,
    Passed from the gates beneath the veil of night,
    Hers still the hope from Persia aid to call,
    Save her loved land, and stay Palmyra’s fall.
    With fluttering heart, but calm and fearless eye,
    Across the trackless desert see her fly!
    On swept the camel with unflagging speed,
    As though he knew that hour of deadly need;
    Her Syrian guards o’er Arab steeds might lean,
    But not keep pace with her, their flying Queen.
    What recked she drifting sand or scorching sun?
    What recked she pain or toil, that mission done?
    Come hunger, thirst,—on, on her course must be,
    Each swift-winged hour brought, Tadmor, doom to thee!

    Lo! on their track, through clouds of rising sand,
    Bright helms were seen, now glittered spear and brand;
    Then horsemen forward dashed,—a long-drawn row,—
    ’T was Rome’s dread troops, the fierce pursuing foe!
    They saw, and hailed,—across the waste was borne
    The hoarse, deep note of many a trumpet-horn;
    And on they came, like winds careering fast,
    Not half so fearful sweeps the simoom blast;
    They brought for her who scoured those desert plains,
    Woe and disgrace, captivity and chains.

    But still Zenobia flew; the steeds that bore
    Her guards had sunk,—those chiefs could aid no more;
    And now that camel shaped his course alone,—
    He reared his head as louder blasts were blown,
    And strained each nerve, his soft black drooping eye
    Telling of suffering, fear, and agony;
    Unhappy, faithful thing! that still would brave
    Toil, peril, death, his royal charge to save.

    ’T was vain: as hounds at length chase down the deer,
    The Roman horsemen drew more near and near;
    Though some fell back, or sank upon the way,
    Yet others, slowly gaining, reached the prey.
    They halted, wheeled,—their armor’s dazzling sheen
    Formed a dread wall round Syria’s fated queen;
    Hope fled her breast,—she yielded,—ruined now,
    But still majestic shone that high-born brow.
    Ah! as they led their prisoner o’er the plain,
    No more to rule, but grace a tyrant’s train,
    And, exiled, pine where wooded Anio sweeps,
    Far from her desert home and palmy steeps,
    The sun of Syria’s power went down in night,
    On Freedom’s tree there rained a withering blight,
    Glory to proud Palmyra sighed adieu,
    And o’er her shrines Destruction’s angel flew.

    – Nicholas Michell

    Golden amber and galbanum with frankincense, myrrh, Balm of Gilead, vanilla-infused sandalwood, sand-smoothed leather, and Ceylon cinnamon.

    All proceeds after cost of manufacture benefit the UNHCR’s efforts to aid refugees and meet humanitarian needs.

  • Paysage

    Je veux, pour composer chastement mes églogues,
    Coucher auprès du ciel, comme les astrologues,
    Et, voisin des clochers écouter en rêvant
    Leurs hymnes solennels emportés par le vent.
    Les deux mains au menton, du haut de ma mansarde,
    Je verrai l’atelier qui chante et qui bavarde;
    Les tuyaux, les clochers, ces mâts de la cité,
    Et les grands ciels qui font rêver d’éternité.

    II est doux, à travers les brumes, de voir naître
    L’étoile dans l’azur, la lampe à la fenêtre
    Les fleuves de charbon monter au firmament
    Et la lune verser son pâle enchantement.
    Je verrai les printemps, les étés, les automnes;
    Et quand viendra l’hiver aux neiges monotones,
    Je fermerai partout portières et volets
    Pour bâtir dans la nuit mes féeriques palais.
    Alors je rêverai des horizons bleuâtres,
    Des jardins, des jets d’eau pleurant dans les albâtres,
    Des baisers, des oiseaux chantant soir et matin,
    Et tout ce que l’Idylle a de plus enfantin.
    L’Emeute, tempêtant vainement à ma vitre,
    Ne fera pas lever mon front de mon pupitre;
    Car je serai plongé dans cette volupté
    D’évoquer le Printemps avec ma volonté,
    De tirer un soleil de mon coeur, et de faire
    De mes pensers brûlants une tiède atmosphère.

    – – –

    More chasteness to my eclogues it would give,
    Sky-high, like old astrologers to live,
    A neighbour of the belfries: and to hear
    Their solemn hymns along the winds career.
    High in my attic, chin in hand, I’d swing
    And watch the workshops as they roar and sing,
    The city’s masts — each steeple, tower, and flue —
    And skies that bring eternity to view.

    Sweet, through the mist, to see illumed again
    Stars through the azure, lamps behind the pane,
    Rivers of carbon irrigate the sky,
    And the pale moon pour magic from on high.
    I’d watch three seasons passing by, and then
    When winter came with dreary snows, I’d pen
    Myself between closed shutters, bolts, and doors,
    And build my fairy palaces indoors.

    A dream of blue horizons I would garble
    With thoughts of fountains weeping on to marble,
    Of gardens, kisses, birds that ceaseless sing,
    And all the Idyll holds of childhood’s spring.
    The riots, brawling past my window-pane,
    From off my desk would not divert my brain.
    Because I would be plunged in pleasure still,
    Conjuring up the Springtime with my will,
    And forcing sunshine from my heart to form,
    Of burning thoughts, an atmosphere that’s warm.
    — Charles Baudelaire, translation by Roy Campbell

    The pale moon pouring magic: Tunisian opium and mugwort with blackened bourbon vanilla, tuberose, glittering white musk, datura accord, wild plum, and tobacco absolute.

  • Pediophobia

    Fear of Dolls

    (But not ventriloquist dummies. That’s an entire phobia unto itself.)
    White porcelain cracked by white tobacco, threads of brittle cognac, and vanilla filigree.

  • Pepper

    She herself had short red hair and a face which was not so much freckled as one big freckle with occasional areas of skin.

    Pepper’s given first names were Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. She had been given them in a naming ceremony in a muddy valley field that contained three sick sheep and a number of leaky polythene teepees. Her mother had chosen the Welsh valley of Pant y Gyrdl as the ideal site to Return to Nature. (Six months later, sick of the rain, the mosquitoes, the men, the tent trampling sheep who ate first the whole commune’s marijuana crop and then its antique minibus, and by now beginning to glimpse why almost the entire drive of human history has been an attempt to get as far away from Nature as possible, Pepper’s mother returned to Pepper’s surprised grandparents in Tadfield, bought a bra, and enrolled in a sociology course with a deep sigh of relief.)

    There are only two ways a child can go with a name like Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, and Pepper had chosen the other one: the three male Them had learned this on their first day of school, in the playground, at the age of four.

    They had asked her her name, and, all innocent, she had told them.

    Subsequently a bucket of water had been needed to separate Pippin Galadriel Moonchild’s teeth from Adam’s shoe. Wensleydale’s first pair of spectacles had been broken, and Brian’s sweater needed five stitches.

    The Them were together from then on, and Pepper was Pepper forever, except to her mother, and (when they were feeling especially courageous, and the Them were almost out of earshot) Greasy Johnson and the Johnsonites, the village’s only other gang.

    Wild English roses, French gardenia, vanilla, honey, golden ginger, blood orange, pine resin, pink pepper, crushed berries, tuberose, bergamot, and geranium.

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  • Phoenix and Dragon

    Incense-blackened oudh and bourbon vanilla with tobacco absolute and 9-year aged patchouli.

  • Pink Fuzzy Handcuffs

    It’s not quite as fun when you lose the key. Pink cotton candy, candied rose, and vanilla sugar.

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  • Pink Snowballs

    A lighthearted winter scent: chilly vanilla rose snowballs! Dainty, soft, and certainly unfit for flinging!

  • Pink Snowballs

    A lighthearted winter scent: chilly vanilla rose snowballs! Dainty, soft, and certainly unfit for flinging!

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  • Pognophobia

    Fear of Beards

    Definitely bad news if you live in Silverlake, Williamsburg, or the Mission. A tangle of patchouli, upcycled leather, artisanal honey, and a couple of oils you’ve probably never heard of.

  • Prosperous Flowers of the Elegant Twelve Seasons

    Patchouli and honeyed saffron with labdanum, leather accord, and wood vanilla.

  • Pumpkin V

    Pumpkin artwork by Ruby Velez!

    Pumpkins, pumpkin vines, and wild mushrooms with white sage, cade, sweetgrass, and vanilla-infused rosewood.

  • Reapers Gonna Reap

    I was supposed to be representing Death for our June Gloom Victorian Mourning event, but the Little Grim Reaper kept stealing my scythe.

    Lilith says this perfume should smell like “pretty meat bones”, and her translation of that is a musky vanilla sandalwood.

  • Road to Versailles at Louveciennes

    Camille Pissarro

    Cream vanilla, frankincense, and velvet-brown sandalwood with coriander, petitgrain, thyme, and wintry musk.

  • Round Dance

    Blush amber, wild carnation, French lavender, hay absolute, strawberry candyfloss, and vanilla cream.

  • Serving Tea After Coitus

    Green tea, heady honey, white plum, ambergris accord, and vanilla flower.

  • Seven Word Story: Envy

    The subject of our latest #BPAL7wordstory contest was Envy. The winning entry was submitted by Tyler Butler:

    Galatea wept as Pygmalion carved new statues

    Marble-white sandalwood, vanilla blossom, and orris root veined with whorls of ambergris accord, rose-touched with life, slowly shattering tears of bitter carrot seed and cistus.

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  • Signior Dildo

    With thanks to Sir John Wilmot.
    This signior is sound, safe, ready, and dumb
    As ever was candle, carrot, or thumb;
    Then away with these nasty devices, and show
    How you rate the just merit of Signior Dildo.
    Count Cazzo, who carries his nose very high,
    In passion he swore his rival should die;
    Then shut himself up to let the world know
    Flesh and blood could not bear it from Signior Dildo.
    A rabble of pricks who were welcome before,
    Now finding the porter denied them the door,
    Maliciously waited his coming below
    And inhumanly fell on Signior Dildo.
    Nigh wearied out, the poor stranger did fly,
    And along the Pall Mall they followed full cry;
    The women concerned from every window
    Cried, 'For heaven's sake, save Signior Dildo.'
    The good Lady Sandys burst into a laughter
    To see how the ballocks came wobbling after,
    And had not their weight retarded the foe,
    Indeed't had gone hard with Signior Dildo.

    A scent of pearls and ivory: orris, violet leaf, narcissus, and Madagascar vanilla.

  • Sinus Amoris

    The Bay of Love: red sandalwood and velvet-thick vanilla with red pepper, oudh, Ethiopian myrrh, and champaca blossom.

  • Siren

    Bewitching, tantalizing and dangerously seductive. A thrilling, exotic blend — deceptively sweet, but spiked with malice. White ginger, jasmine, and a touch of vanilla and apricot.

    Out of Stock
  • Snake Oil

    By far, our most popular scent! Magnetic, mysterious, and exceedingly sexual in nature. A blend of exotic Indonesian oils sugared with vanilla.

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  • Snake Oil: 2009 Vintage

    Back in 2009, we bottled a hooch-jug of Snake Oil and put it aside in a cool, dark nook. We’ll be selling the fruits of our labor and patience in 100 bottle increments. Each bottle is $50.

    We will be making announcements prior to each hundred-bottle release.

    By far, our most popular scent! Magnetic, mysterious, and exceedingly sexual in nature. A blend of exotic Indonesian oils sugared with vanilla.

  • Snake’s Kiss

    And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
    But even so, honoured still more
    That he should seek my hospitality
    From out the dark door of the secret earth.



    Snake Oil with sugar, honeycomb, and thick vanilla cream.

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  • Snaky-Hair’d Moirai Many-Form’d

    Tobacco-threaded incense smoke, labdanum, red benzoin, and blackened vanilla.

    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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  • Soceraphobia

    Fear of Parents-in-Law

    A scent of judgement and scorn: blackened vetiver, smug vanilla, and a dismissive, sneering dribble of black coffee.

  • Some Strangeness in the Proportion

    Yet her features were not of that regular mould which we have been falsely taught to worship in the classical labors of the heathen. “There is no exquisite beauty,” says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speaking truly of all the forms and genera of beauty, without some strangeness in the proportion.” Yet, although I saw that the features of Ligeia were not of a classic regularity –although I perceived that her loveliness was indeed “exquisite,” and felt that there was much of “strangeness” pervading it, yet I have tried in vain to detect the irregularity and to trace home my own perception of “the strange.”

    Rich vanilla sandalwood elegantly distorted by oudh, labdanum, scarlet saffron, and pink pepper.

  • Sonnet d’Automne

    Ils me disent, tes yeux, clairs comme le cristal:
    “Pour toi, bizarre amant, quel est donc mon mérite?”
    – Sois charmante et tais-toi! Mon coeur, que tout irrite,
    Excepté la candeur de l’antique animal,

    Ne veut pas te montrer son secret infernal,
    Berceuse dont la main aux longs sommeils m’invite,
    Ni sa noire légende avec la flamme écrite.
    Je hais la passion et l’esprit me fait mal!

    Aimons-nous doucement. L’Amour dans sa guérite,
    Ténébreux, embusqué, bande son arc fatal.
    Je connais les engins de son vieil arsenal:

    Crime, horreur et folie! – Ô pâle marguerite!
    Comme moi n’es-tu pas un soleil automnal,
    Ô ma si blanche, ô ma si froide Marguerite?

    They say to me, your eyes, clear as crystal:
    “For you, bizarre lover, what is my merit then?”
    – Be charming and be still! My heart, which all things irk,
    Except the candor of the animals of old,

    Does not wish to reveal its black secret to you,
    Whose lulling hands invite me to long sleep,
    Nor its somber legend written with flame.
    I hate passion; intelligence makes me suffer!

    Let us love each other sweetly. Tenebrous Love,
    Ambushed in his shelter, stretches his fatal bow.
    I know all the weapons of his old arsenal:

    Crime, horror, and madness! – pale marguerite!
    Are you not, like me, an autumnal sun,
    O my Marguerite, so white and so cold?

    – Charles Baudelaire, translated by William Aggeler

    Tenebrous Love: a shivering white musk with vanilla-infused white cocoa, amber incense, and dead, dry leaves.

  • Sonnet d’Automne 2015

    Ils me disent, tes yeux, clairs comme le cristal:
    “Pour toi, bizarre amant, quel est donc mon mérite?”
    – Sois charmante et tais-toi! Mon coeur, que tout irrite,
    Excepté la candeur de l’antique animal,

    Ne veut pas te montrer son secret infernal,
    Berceuse dont la main aux longs sommeils m’invite,
    Ni sa noire légende avec la flamme écrite.
    Je hais la passion et l’esprit me fait mal!

    Aimons-nous doucement. L’Amour dans sa guérite,
    Ténébreux, embusqué, bande son arc fatal.
    Je connais les engins de son vieil arsenal:

    Crime, horreur et folie! – Ô pâle marguerite!
    Comme moi n’es-tu pas un soleil automnal,
    Ô ma si blanche, ô ma si froide Marguerite?

    They say to me, your eyes, clear as crystal:
    “For you, bizarre lover, what is my merit then?”
    – Be charming and be still! My heart, which all things irk,
    Except the candor of the animals of old,

    Does not wish to reveal its black secret to you,
    Whose lulling hands invite me to long sleep,
    Nor its somber legend written with flame.
    I hate passion; intelligence makes me suffer!

    Let us love each other sweetly. Tenebrous Love,
    Ambushed in his shelter, stretches his fatal bow.
    I know all the weapons of his old arsenal:

    Crime, horror, and madness! – pale marguerite!
    Are you not, like me, an autumnal sun,
    O my Marguerite, so white and so cold?

    – Charles Baudelaire, translated by William Aggeler

    Tenebrous Love: a shivering white musk with vanilla-infused white cocoa, amber incense, and dead, dry leaves.

  • St. Clare

    White sandalwood and tonka with sweet tobacco incense, vanilla-infused mahogany, rum absolute, and golden oudh.

  • Startled Toad

    Golden amber and coconut with frankincense, frothy vanilla, carnation, sweet aged patchouli, and lemongrass.

  • Strawberry Moon

    Strawberries that in gardens grow
    Are plump and juicy fine,
    But sweeter far as wise men know
    Spring from the woodland vine.

    No need for bowl or silver spoon,
    Sugar or spice or cream,
    Has the wild berry plucked in June
    Beside the trickling stream.

    One such to melt at the tongue’s root,
    Confounding taste with scent,
    Beats a full peck of garden fruit:
    Which points my argument.

    May sudden justice overtake
    And snap the froward pen,
    That old and palsied poets shake
    Against the minds of men.

    Blasphemers trusting to hold caught
    In far-flung webs of ink,
    The utmost ends of human thought
    Till nothing’s left to think.

    But may the gift of heavenly peace
    And glory for all time
    Keep the boy Tom who tending geese
    First made the nursery rhyme.

    – Robert Graves

    Wild strawberries, strawberry flower, vanilla-infused sugar, early summer grasses, purple coneflower, white sage, and milky dandelion sap.

  • Texare

    Lilith is already better at knitting than I am. A few weeks ago, we went to a knitting clinic together just to brush up a bit on our skills. Everything the instructor showed her… she took to immediately. I, on the other hand, had a bit more trouble. Actually, a lot more trouble. Arachne, I am not. Going to that class with her was amazingly fun, and watching her create brings me unbelievable amounts of delight. This scent is inspired by the colors of the yarns she chose that day: raspberry pink, cherry red, sky blue, and lime green, all swirled with frankincense, black oudh, mallow root, and sweet wooly vanilla husk.

  • The Book

    Brown leather, tonka, vanilla bourbon tar, and a thin whiff of rose.

  • The Bow & Crown of Conquest

    And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.

    Nobility and haughtiness befitting the Antichrist: sage, carnation and cedar with lavender, vanilla, white musk and leather.

    And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.

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  • The Bride

    Vanilla chiffon, honey musk, and pale magnolia.

  • The Contrast

    Gleaming white frankincense and vanilla-infused benzoin.

  • 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 Illustrated Woman

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

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  • The Instructional Manual

    Cherry blossoms falling into folds of red musk, bourbon vanilla, and strawberry cream.

  • The Magi: Gaspar of India

    Laotian oudh, labdanum, bourbon vanilla, red benzoin, and myrrh.

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  • The Magic Circle

    John William Waterhouse
    Vanilla-infused frankincense and clary sage with 7-year aged patchouli, jasmine sambac, honey myrtle, and oudh.

  • The Mark

    White sandalwood and white leather, bourbon vanilla and bourbon vetiver.

  • The Radiance of an Opium-Dream

    There is one dear topic, however, on which my memory fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in her latter days, even emaciated. I would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of her footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was never made aware of her entrance into my closed study save by the dear music of her low sweet voice, as she placed her marble hand upon my shoulder. In beauty of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream –an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the phantasies which hovered vision about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.

    A haze of tuberose, pale jasmine, vanilla orchid, and lily, with a faint jagged edge of opium tar.

  • The Ragged Wood

    O, hurry, where by water, among the trees,
    The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,
    When they have looked upon their images
    Would none had ever loved but you and I!
    Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed
    Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,
    When the sun looked out of his golden hood?
    O, that none ever loved but you and I!
    O hurry to the ragged wood, for there
    I will drive all those lovers out and cry
    O, my share of the world, O, yellow hair!
    No one has ever loved but you and I.
    – William Butler Yeats

    Lily of the Valley, star jasmine, benzoin, vanilla, plumeria, bergamot, Terebinth pine, juniper berry, and tea rose.

  • The Small Brown Cat

    The small brown cat opened her eyes and stretched to her feet. She padded across the kitchen floor and pushed at Shadow’s boot with her head. He put down his left hand and scratched her forehead and the back of her ears and the scruff of her neck. She arched, ecstatically, then sprang into his lap, pushed herself up against his chest, and touched her cold nose to his. Then she curled up in his lap and went back to sleep. He put his hand down to stroke her: her fur was soft, and she was warm and pleasant in his lap; she acted like she was in the safest place in the world, and Shadow felt comforted.

    Warm brown fur, cardamom-infused bourbon vanilla, and a touch of cedarwood.

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  • The Small Harem

    Tahitian vanilla and strawberry with tonka bean absolute, Italian bergamot, ylang ylang, and Haitian vetiver.

  • The Torture Queen

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

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  • The Trappings of the Tea House

    White sandalwood, ti leaf, osmanthus, pink pepper, and white vanilla bark.

  • The Tumultuous Vultures of Stern Passion

    Of all the women whom I have ever known, she, the outwardly calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was the most violently a prey to the tumultuous vultures of stern passion. And of such passion I could form no estimate, save by the miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so delighted and appalled me –by the almost magical melody, modulation, distinctness and placidity of her very low voice –and by the fierce energy (rendered doubly effective by contrast with her manner of utterance) of the wild words which she habitually uttered.

    Of such passion, I could form no estimate: sanguine red musk, red benzoin, wild plum, vetiver tar, and Indonesian patchouli beneath a still pool of sheer white musk and vanilla-gilded lily.

  • The Unquiet Grave 2016

    “The wind doth blow today, my love,
    And a few small drops of rain;
    I never had but one true-love,
    In cold grave she was lain.”

    “I’ll do as much for my true-love
    As any young man may;
    I’ll sit and mourn all at her grave
    For a twelvemonth and a day.”

    The twelvemonth and a day being up,
    The dead began to speak:
    “Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
    And will not let me sleep?”

    “’T is I, my love, sits on your grave,
    And will not let you sleep;
    For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
    And that is all I seek.”

    “You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
    But my breath smells earthy strong;
    If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
    Your time will not be long.

    “’Tis down in yonder garden green,
    Love, where we used to walk,
    The finest flower that e’re was seen
    Is withered to a stalk.

    “The stalk is withered dry, my love,
    So will our hearts decay;
    So make yourself content, my love,
    Till God calls you away.”

    One kiss of clay-cold lips: frozen white roses, frankincense, white gardenia, white sandalwood, and vanilla orchid.

  • The Waltz

    The Waltz – Not a complicated dance, really – The lady takes her place slightly to the left of the leading gentleman. Six basic steps – that is all.

    However – It is said that the true test of a perfect waltz is for it to be so swift, delicate and so smooth, that a candle flame will not be extinguished in the hand of the lead dancer… Now that requires the perfect partner.

    So swift, so delicate, so smooth: champagne musk, ambergris accord, white rose, rosewood, and vanilla amber.

  • The Witches

    Jean Veber
    Pumpkin cream, honey, vanilla sugar, and smoked vanilla bean.

  • They Shall Eate the Residue of that which is Escaped

    Behold, to morrow will I bring the locusts into thy coast. And they shall couer the face of the earth, that one cannot be able to see the earth, and they shall eate the residue of that which is escaped, which remaineth vnto you from the haile, and shall eate euery tree, which groweth for you out of the field. And they shall fill thy houses, and the houses of all thy seruants, and the houses of all the Egyptians, which neither thy fathers, nor thy fathers fathers haue seene, since the day that they were vpon the earth, vnto this day.

    Dry vanilla mint with rosewood, balsam, green sandalwood, green mate absolute, and sage.

  • Three French Hens

    Two Turtle Doves and a
    Partridge in a Pear Tree

    Fear not: the hens triumph in the end. Feathery bourbon vanilla, Siamese red benzoin, petitgrain, vengeful red currant, and a drop of vetiver.

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  • To His Mistress Going to Bed

    Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
    Until I labour, I in labour lie.
    The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
    Is tir'd with standing though he never fight.
    Off with that girdle, like heaven's Zone glistering,
    But a far fairer world encompassing.
    Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
    That th'eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
    Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
    Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
    Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
    That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
    Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
    As when from flowery meads th'hill's shadow steals.
    Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
    The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
    Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
    In this love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
    In such white robes, heaven's Angels used to be
    Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
    A heaven like Mahomet's Paradise; and though
    Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
    By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
    Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
    Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
    Before, behind, between, above, below.
    O my America! my new-found-land,
    My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann'd,
    My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
    How blest am I in this discovering thee!
    To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
    Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
    Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
    As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth'd must be,
    To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
    Are like Atlanta's balls, cast in men's views,
    That when a fool's eye lighteth on a Gem,
    His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
    Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
    For lay-men, are all women thus array'd;
    Themselves are mystic books, which only we
    (Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
    Must see reveal'd. Then since that I may know;
    As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
    Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
    There is no penance due to innocence.
    To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
    What needst thou have more covering than a man.

    –          John Donne

    Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
    Before, behind, between, above, below.

    Skin like silk: bourbon vanilla, caramelized patchouli, Siamese red benzoin, and fig.

  • 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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  • Tombstone

    A celebration of one of the first commercially produced perfumes of America’s Old West. A rugged, warm blend of vanilla, balsam and sassafras layered over Virginia cedar.

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  • Uncle Traveling Matt

    The magic is always there, as long as we keep looking for it.

    Gobo’s Uncle Travelling Matt is the greatest living Fraggle explorer – the Fraggle equivalent of an astronaut. After completing his exploration of Fraggle Rock, he ventured forth into our world, a place the Fraggles call “Outer Space.”

    Dark chocolate, figgy vanilla, pear, and quince.

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  • Velvet

    Envelop yourself in the soft, sensual embrace of gentle sandalwood warmed by cocoa vanilla and a veil of deep myrrh.

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  • Venus Cloacina

    Venus the Purifier

    A magnificent white gardenia in full bloom, gilded by frankincense, sheer musk, and vanilla orchid.

  • VI. Alias

    The man hesitated for an instant. “My name is John Robinson,” he answered with a sidelong glance.

    “No, no; the real name,” said Holmes sweetly. “It is always awkward doing business with an alias.”

    A masquerade, a scent to camouflage: tonka bean and vanilla with red patchouli, Spanish king mandarin, white sandalwood, black pepper, and rose geranium.

  • Victoria

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

    Graceful vanilla musk, tea rose, and stargazer lily.

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  • VILF

    Because isn't that what this book is really about? Vampire smut: patchouli-infused honey, red musk, red sandalwood, red ginger, pink pepper, Peru balsam, dark Eastern florals, Himalayan cedar, smoky vanilla, bitter clove, and leather.

  • Volcano in Springtime

    Whipped vanilla cream and white sandalwood with a touch of lotus root.

  • 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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  • White Rabbit

    Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen.

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  • Winter: My Secret

    Perhaps some day, who knows?
    But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,
    And you’re too curious: fie!
    You want to hear it? well:
    Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.
    Or, after all, perhaps there’s none:
    Suppose there is no secret after all,
    But only just my fun.
    Today’s a nipping day, a biting day;
    In which one wants a shawl,
    A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:
    I cannot ope to everyone who taps,
    And let the draughts come whistling thro’ my hall;
    Come bounding and surrounding me,
    Come buffeting, astounding me,
    Nipping and clipping thro’ my wraps and all.
    I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows
    His nose to Russian snows
    To be pecked at by every wind that blows?
    You would not peck? I thank you for good will,
    Believe, but leave the truth untested still.
    Spring’s an expansive time: yet I don’t trust
    March with its peck of dust,
    Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,
    Nor even May, whose flowers
    One frost may wither thro’ the sunless hours.
    Perhaps some languid summer day,
    When drowsy birds sing less and less,
    And golden fruit is ripening to excess,
    If there’s not too much sun nor too much cloud,
    And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,
    Perhaps my secret I may say,
    Or you may guess.
    – Christina Rossetti

    Sweet labdanum, white myrrh, and bourbon vanilla.

  • Woman Dragging Her Aroused Lover Across a Bridge

    Sweet amber and rosewood, wet oak beams, smoky vanilla husk, ambrette seed, and hinoki wood.

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  • Womb Furie

    In the middle of the flanks of women lies the womb, a female viscus, closely resembling an animal; for it is moved of itself hither and thither in the flanks, also upwards in a direct line to below the cartilage of the thorax and also obliquely to the right or to the left, either to the liver or spleen; and it likewise is subject to falling downwards, and, in a word, it is altogether erratic. It delights, also, in fragrant smells, and advances towards them; and it has an aversion to fetid smells, and flees from them; and on the whole the womb is like an animal within an animal.
    — Aretaeus the Cappadocian

    Oh, that wily womb! Hippocrates and his followers considered the womb a mobile creature, causing mayhem as it writhed its way through a woman's body. Sometimes this ornery organ, due to lack of sexual activity, would create conflicts within a woman's system or would become blocked itself, causing anxiety, nervousness, water retention, and sleeplessness. With the assistance of doctors, nursemaids, hand tools, or, occasionally, self-manipulation, this vexing condition could be alleviated through hysterical paroxysms.

    Or, as we call it nowadays: orgasm.

    An itch that needs to be scratched: Snake Oil and three types of honey.

  • Wynter Wakeneth Al My Care

    Wynter wakeneth al my care,
    Nou this leves waxeth bare;
    Ofte I sike ant mourne sare
    When hit cometh in my thoght
    Of this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht.

    Nou hit is, and nou hit nys,
    Also hit ner nere, ywys;
    That moni mon seith, soth hit ys:
    Al goth bote Godes wille:
    Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle.

    Al that gren me graueth grene,
    Nou hit faleweth al by dene:
    Jesu, help that hit be sene
    Ant shild us from helle!
    For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.

    May we be saved – and save ourselves – from these hard, cruel times, and may we find strength together, for we know not where we go, nor how long we will dwell here. A warming, uplifting, strengthening scent: patchouli and sweet amber with champaca, bourbon vanilla, and frankincense.

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  • Yellow Snowballs

    Because I am very, very crass. Slushy white mint, vanilla cream, lemon drops, grapefruit, and yuzu!

  • Zephyr

    A gentle white scent, breezes laced with the scent of springtime blooms and citrus. Lemon, lemon verbena, neroli, white musk, white florals, white sandalwood, China musk, bergamot and a drop of vanilla.

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  • Zorya Polunochnaya

    Her hair was pale and colorless in the moon’s thin light. She wore a white cotton nightgown, with a high lace neck and a hem that swept the ground. Shadow sat up, entirely awake. “You are Zorya Polu . . . ,” he hesitated. “The sister who was asleep.”

    “I am Zorya Polunochnaya, yes. And you are called Shadow, yes? That was what Zorya Vechernyaya told me, when I woke.”

    “Yes. What were you looking at, out there?”

    She looked at him, then she beckoned him to join her by the window. She turned her back while he pulled on his jeans. He walked over to her. It seemed a long walk, for such a small room.

    He could not tell her age. Her skin was unlined, her eyes were dark, her lashes were long, her hair was to her waist and white. The moonlight drained colors into ghosts of themselves. She was taller than either of her sisters.

    She pointed up into the night sky. “I was looking at that,” she said, pointing to the Big Dipper. “See?”

    “Ursa Major,” he said. “The Great Bear.”

    “That is one way of looking at it,” she said. “But it is not the way from where I come from. I am going to sit on the roof. Would you like to come with me?”

     

    Pale amber and ambergris, gossamer vanilla, moonflower, and white tobacco petals.

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