Related products

• 

  Dawn: Mourning Victory Perfume Oil

  Red sandalwood, night-blooming jasmine, white tea, hyacinth, rosehips, and tuberose.

  Add to cart
• 

  The Sixth Veil Perfume Oil

  Distillation, the veil of steam. Condensation gathering in clouds of tulle, white tea, aqua vitae, rosemary liqueur, and bourbon vanilla.

  Add to cart
• 

  The Harlot’s House Perfume Oil

  We caught the tread of dancing feet,
  We loitered down the moonlit street,
  And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.

  Inside, above the din and fray,
  We heard the loud musicians play
  The “Treues Liebes Herz” of Strauss.

  Like strange mechanical grotesques,
  Making fantastic arabesques,
  The shadows raced across the blind.

  We watched the ghostly dancers spin
  To sound of horn and violin,
  Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

  Like wire-pulled automatons,
  Slim silhouetted skeletons
  Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

  The took each other by the hand,
  And danced a stately saraband;
  Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

  Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
  A phantom lover to her breast,
  Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

  Sometimes a horrible marionette
  Came out, and smoked its cigarette
  Upon the steps like a live thing.

  Then, turning to my love, I said,
  “The dead are dancing with the dead,
  The dust is whirling with the dust.”

  But she–she heard the violin,
  And left my side, and entered in:
  Love passed into the house of lust.

  Then suddenly the tune went false,
  The dancers wearied of the waltz,
  The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

  And down the long and silent street,
  The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
  Crept like a frightened girl.

  The dead are dancing with the dead, the dust is whirling with the dust: angel’s trumpet, violet, white sandalwood, oude, copaiba balsam, angelica, white tea, olibanum, and oakmoss.

  Select Options This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page
• 

  Iulia, L’Artiste du Diable Perfume Oil

  A chittering buzz rises from a small crowd that has gathered around an opulent velvet-draped tent. Some are fidgeting impatiently; others try in vain to peep within the tent. Within moments, a slim, stunningly handsome man emerges from the entryway to the sound of gasps and scattered applause. His face is lit with fierce joy, and he bows almost smugly to the assemblage. Grabbing a flirtatious blonde from the mob, he kisses her in a rush of mad passion, his arm encircles her waist, and he leads her directly to a nearby opium den. The crowd disperses, and curiosity pulls you forward. You push open the fringed, beaded tent-flap and enter the dimly-lit room. A lovely, voluptuous redhead stands before an ornate antique easel. Her luminous alabaster skin and the phosphorescence emanating from her paintbrush seem to be the only source of light. As you adjust to the gloom, you see that the walls are covered with atrocities: an exhibit of dissolution. The myriad canvases show men and women in various stages of rot and decay, a panoply of indulgence, teeth set in fury, mouths leering in lust, hands grasping greedily.

  The scarlet woman turns her gleaming sightless eyes towards you and, in a husky, compelling voice, she speaks:

  “Why let the years tear at your youthful splendor? Why let the mark of your sins stain your fine features? Will you let the cold, creeping grasp of time and the toil of temptation mar your visage? Why should the pleasures of our flesh wreak such havoc?”

  She leans in close to you and whispers, “Let me capture your soul on this canvas in oil and blood, and you will be beautiful forever.”

  White tea, sugar cane, orange blossom, rockrose, lemon balm, white mint, and honey.

  Out of Stock