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  Three Rounds, One Fall, No Submission Perfume Oil

  Crowley thumped the wheel. Everything had been going so well, he’d had it really under his thumb these few centuries. That’s how it goes, you think you’re on top of the world, and suddenly they spring Armageddon on you. The Great War, the Last Battle. Heaven versus Hell, three rounds, one Fall, no submission. And that’d be that. No more world. That’s what the end of the world meant. No more world. Just endless Heaven or, depending who won, endless Hell. Crowley didn’t know which was worse.

  Well, Hell was worse, of course, by definition. But Crowley remembered what Heaven was like, and it had quite a few things in common with Hell. You couldn’t get a decent drink in either of them, for a start. And the boredom you got in Heaven was almost as bad as the excitement you got in Hell.

  Beatific gardenia, virtuous lemon flower, and sacred frankincense clashing with infernal musk, a burst of sulphur, and a little bit of hellfire.

  Out of Stock
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  ‘Tis the Voice of the Lobster Perfume Oil

  ‘Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
  ‘You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.’
  As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
  Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
  When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
  And will talk in contemptuous tones of the shark;
  But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
  His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.

  I passed by his garden and marked, with one eye,
  How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie:
  The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
  While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.
  When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
  Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
  While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
  And concluded the banquet by —

  A woody, musky-weird base glooping over with blackberry preserves, a twist of mandarin, strawberry juice, pulverized watermelon, and a handful of smushed gardenia petals.

  Out of Stock This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page
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  Highwayman Perfume Oil

  A brace of loaded pistols
  He carried night and day;
  He never robbed a poor man
  Upon the king’s highway;
  But what he’d taken from the rich,
  Like Turpin and Black Bess,
  He always did divide it
  With the widow in distress.

  Stand and deliver! Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather

  Select Options This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page
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  Blackberry Apple Sufganiyot Perfume Oil

  Sugar-sprinkled sufganiyot filled with blackberry jelly and spiced roasted apple.

  Out of Stock