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  The Harpy Celaeno Perfume Oil

  The unicorn began to walk toward the harpy’s cage. Schmendrick the Magician, tiny and pale, kept opening and closing his mouth at her, and she knew what he was shrieking, though she could not hear him. “She will kill you, she will kill you! Run, you fool, while she’s still a prisoner! She will kill you if you set her free!” But the unicorn walked on, following the light of her horn, until she stood before Celaeno, the Dark One.

  For an instant the icy wings hung silent in the air, like clouds, and the harpy’s old yellow eyes sank into the unicorn’s heart and drew her close. “I will kill you if you set me free,” the eyes said. “Set me free.” 

  The unicorn lowered her head until her horn touched the lock of the harpy’s cage. The door did not swing open, and the iron bars did not thaw into starlight. But the harpy lifted her wings, and the four sides of the cage fell slowly away and down, like the petals of some great flower waking at night. And out of the wreckage the harpy bloomed, terrible and free, screaming, her hair swinging like a sword. The moon withered and fled. 

  The unicorn heard herself cry out, not in terror but in wonder, “Oh, you are like me!” She reared joyously to meet the harpy’s stoop, and her horn leaped up into the wicked wind. The harpy struck once, missed, and swung away, her wings clanging and her breath warm and stinking. She burned overhead, and the unicorn saw herself reflected on the harpy’s bronze breast and felt the monster shining from her own body. So they circled one another like a double star, and under the shrunken sky there was nothing real but the two of them. The harpy laughed with delight, and her eyes turned the color of honey. The unicorn knew that she was going to strike again. 

  Clanging metal, smouldering hatred, and terror: vetiver, myrrh, patchouli, tolu balsam, black clove, bergamot, orange flower, and horseradish.

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  To a Wreath of Snow Perfume Oil

  O transient voyager of heaven!

  O silent sign of winter skies!

  What adverse wind thy sail has driven

  To dungeons where a prisoner lies?

   

  Methinks the hands that shut the sun

  So sternly from this mourning brow

  Might still their rebel task have done

  And checked a thing so frail as thou

   

  They would have done it had they known

  The talisman that dwelt in thee,

  For all the suns that ever shone

  Have never been so kind to me!

   

  For many a week, and many a day

  My heart was weighed with sinking gloom

  When morning rose in mourning grey

  And faintly lit my prison room

   

  But angel like, when I awoke,

  Thy silvery form so soft and fair

  Shining through darkness, sweetly spoke

  Of cloudy skies and mountains bare

   

  The dearest to a mountaineer

  Who, all life long has loved the snow

  That crowned her native summits drear,

  Better, than greenest plains below –

   

  And voiceless, soulless messenger

  Thy presence waked a thrilling tone

  That comforts me while thou art here

  And will sustain when thou art gone

  – Emily Brontë

  Morning rising in mourning grey: tobacco flower, white oud, lavender bud, and ambergris accord.

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  Tiefling Perfume Oil

  Infernal red musk, sweet aged patchouli root, clove bud, saffron crocus, red champaca blossom, tobacco flower, and hemp.

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  Cyborg Perfume Oil

  Inspired by the character GRENDEL-PRIME.
  A heavy-metal cyborg, created by the Grendel-Khan to act as a paladin protector for his only son and heir, an unstoppable killing machine.

  Gleaming metal and black leather over a khus-darkened bay rum.

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