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  Bess Perfume Oil

  I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
  I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
  I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
  I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
  I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
  Since from myself another self I turned.
  My care is like my shadow in the sun,
  Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
  Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
  His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
  No means I find to rid him from my breast,
  Till by the end of things it be supprest.
  Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
  For I am soft and made of melting snow;
  Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
  Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
  Or let me live with some more sweet content,
  Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

  Inspired by the tragic, ill-fated love of Queen Elizabeth I and the Earl of Leicester. This is our modernization of a 17th-century perfume blend favored by British aristocracy: rosemary, orange flower, grape spirit, five rose variants, lemon peel, and mint.

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  The Black Tower Perfume Oil

  Say that the men of the old black tower,
  Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
  Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
  Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
  That all are oath-bound men:
  Those banners come not in.

  There in the tomb stand the dead upright,
  But winds come up from the shore:
  They shake when the winds roar,
  Old bones upon the mountain shake.

  Those banners come to bribe or threaten,
  Or whisper that a man’s a fool
  Who, when his own right king’s forgotten,
  Cares what king sets up his rule.
  If he died long ago
  Why do you dread us so?

  There in the tomb drops the faint moonlight,
  But wind comes up from the shore:
  They shake when the winds roar,
  Old bones upon the mountain shake.

  The tower’s old cook that must climb and clamber
  Catching small birds in the dew of the morn
  When we hale men lie stretched in slumber
  Swears that he hears the king’s great horn.
  But he’s a lying hound:
  Stand we on guard oath-bound!

  There in the tomb the dark grows blacker,
  But wind comes up from the shore:
  They shake when the winds roar,
  Old bones upon the mountain shake.

  A sepulchral, desolate scent. Long-dead soldiers, oath-bound; the perfume of their armor, the chill wind that surges through their tower, white bone and blackened steel: white sandalwood, ambergris, wet ozone, galbanum and leather with ebony, teak, burnt grasses, English ivy and a hint of red wine.

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  Chimera Perfume Oil

  The fiery, volatile scent of cinnamon, thickened by myrrh, honeysuckle, and copal.

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  Bliss Perfume Oil

  A shot of pure, self-indulgent euphoria! A scent that is very, very wicked in its own way: the serotonin-slathered scent of pure milk chocolate.

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