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  The Rights of Women Perfume Oil

  Yes, injured Woman! rise, assert thy right!
  Woman! too long degraded, scorned, opprest;
  O born to rule in partial Law’s despite,
  Resume thy native empire o’er the breast!

  Go forth arrayed in panoply divine;
  That angel pureness which admits no stain;
  Go, bid proud Man his boasted rule resign,
  And kiss the golden sceptre of thy reign.

  Go, gird thyself with grace; collect thy store
  Of bright artillery glancing from afar;
  Soft melting tones thy thundering cannon’s roar,
  Blushes and fears thy magazine of war.

  Thy rights are empire: urge no meaner claim, –
  Felt, not defined, and if debated, lost;
  Like sacred mysteries, which withheld from fame,
  Shunning discussion, are revered the most.

  Try all that wit and art suggest to bend
  Of thy imperial foe the stubborn knee;
  Make treacherous Man thy subject, not thy friend;
  Thou mayst command, but never canst be free.

  Awe the licentious, and restrain the rude;
  Soften the sullen, clear the cloudy brow:
  Be, more than princes’ gifts, thy favours sued; –
  She hazards all, who will the least allow.

  But hope not, courted idol of mankind,
  On this proud eminence secure to stay;
  Subduing and subdued, thou soon shalt find
  Thy coldness soften, and thy pride give way.

  Then, then, abandon each ambitious thought,
  Conquest or rule thy heart shall feebly move,
  In Nature’s school, by her soft maxims taught,
  That separate rights are lost in mutual love.
  – Anna Lætitia Barbauld

  Too long degraded, scorned, opprest: a bold, strident red chypre with sweet wild patchouli, bourbon vanilla, Tunisian neroli, tuberose, warm red currant, strawberry, and red labdanum.

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  Sed Non Satiata Perfume Oil

  Strange goddess, brown as evening to the sight,
  Whose scent is half of musk, half of havanah,
  Work of some obi, Faust of the Savanah,
  Ebony witch, and daughter of the night.

  By far preferred to troth, or opium, or sleep,
  Love vaunts the red elixir of your mouth.
  My caravan of longings seeks in drouth
  Your eyes, the wells at which my cares drink deep.

  Through those black eyes, by which your soul respires,
  Pitiless demon! pour less scorching fires.
  I am no Styx nine times with flame to wed.

  Nor can I turn myself to Proserpine
  To break your spell, Megera libertine!
  Within the dark inferno of your bed.

  A pounding heartbeat coalesced into scent: demonic passion and brutal sexuality manifested through myrrh, red patchouli, cognac, honey, and tuberose and geranium in a breathy, panting veil over the darkest body musk.

  Select Options This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page
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  Pomegranate Vulva Perfume Oil

  Garnet rivulets of pomegranate juice, honeyed amber resin, labdanum, ylang ylang, tuberose, and red plum.

  Out of Stock
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  Lady Amalthea Perfume Oil

  Molly Grue had taken the white girl’s head onto her lap, and was whispering over and over, “What have you done?” The girl’s face, quiet in sleep and close to smiling, was the most beautiful that Schmendrick had ever seen. It hurt him and warmed him at the same time. Molly smoothed the strange hair, and Schmendrick noticed on the forehead, above and between the closed eyes, a small, raised mark, darker than the rest of the skin. It was neither a scar nor a bruise. It looked like a flower.

  A luminous white winter musk with lilac, wisteria, white chocolate, white mint, and tuberose

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