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  Mastermind Perfume Oil

  Inspired by the character HUNTER ROSE.
  The first of the Grendel legacy, a stylish, best-selling author who leads a double life as a relentless assassin and all-powerful mob overlord.

  An elegant cologne of olibanum, opoponax, leather accord, black amber, bois de jasmine, cade wood, pale balsam, orange blossom, oudh, black plum, bourbon vanilla, and sandalwood.

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  Brusque Violet Perfume Oil

  `I never saw anybody that looked stupider,’ a Violet said, so suddenly, that Alice quite jumped; for it hadn’t spoken before.

  `Hold your tongue!’ cried the Tiger-lily. `As if you ever saw anybody! You keep your head under the leaves, and snore away there, till you know no more what’s going on in the world, that if you were a bud!’ 

  `Are there any more people in the garden besides me?’ Alice said, not choosing to notice the Rose’s last remark.

  `There’s one other flower in the garden that can move about like you,’ said the Rose. `I wonder how you do it — ‘ (`You’re always wondering,’ said the Tiger-lily), `but she’s more bushy than you are.’

  `Is she like me?’ Alice asked eagerly, for the thought crossed her mind, `There’s another little girl in the garden, somewhere!’

  `Well, she has the same awkward shape as you,’ the Rose said, `but she’s redder — and her petals are shorter, I think.’

  `Her petals are done up close, almost like a dahlia,’ the Tiger-lily interrupted: `not tumbled about anyhow, like yours.’

  `But that’s not your fault,’ the Rose added kindly: `you’re beginning to fade, you know — and then one can’t help one’s petals getting a little untidy.’

  Violet petal, violet leaf, osmanthus, orris, mint, and opoponax.

  Select Options This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page
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  Elli’s Song Perfume Oil

  “Most shows,” said Rukh after a time, “would end here, for what could they possibly present after a genuine unicorn? But Mommy Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival holds one more mystery yet — a demon more destructive than the dragon, more monstrous than the manticore, more hideous than the harpy, and certainly more universal than the unicorn.” He waved his hand toward the last wagon and the black hangings began to wriggle open, though there was no one pulling them. “Behold her!” Rukh cried. “Behold the last, the Very End! Behold Elli!”

  Inside the cage, it was darker than the evening, and cold stirred behind the bars like a live thing. Something moved in the cold, and the unicorn saw Elli — an old, bony, ragged woman who crouched in the cage rocking and warming herself before a fire that was not there. She looked so frail that the weight of the darkness should have crushed her, and so helpless and alone that the watchers should have rushed forward in pity to free her. Instead, they began to back silently away, for all the world as though Elli were stalking them. But she was not even looking at them. She sat in the dark and creaked a song to herself in a voice that sounded like a saw going through a tree, and like a tree getting ready to fall.

  What is plucked will grow again,
  What is slain lives on,
  What is stolen will remain —
  What is gone is gone.

  “She doesn’t look like much, does she?” Rukh asked. “But no hero can stand before her, no god can wrestle her down, no magic can keep her out — or in, for she’s no prisoner of ours. Even while we exhibit her here, she is walking among you, touching and taking. For Elli is Old Age.”

  The cold of the cage reached out to the unicorn, and wherever it touched her she grew lame and feeble. She felt herself withering, loosening, felt her beauty leaving her with her breath. Ugliness swung from her mane, dragged down her head, stripped her tail, gaunted her body, ate up her coat, and ravaged her mind with remembrance of what she had once been. Somewhere nearby, the harpy made her low, eager sound, but the unicorn would gladly have huddled in the shadow of her bronze wings to hide from this last demon. Elli’s song sawed away at her heart.

  What is sea-born dies on land,
  Soft is trod upon.
  What is given burns the hand —
  What is gone is gone.

  The horrors of entropy, death, and decay: desiccated black mosses, vetiver, bone sandalwood, olibanum, patchouli, opoponax, and ashes.

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  In His Hands All Thy Cruelties Thrive Perfume Oil

  Thou shalt blind his bright eyes though he wrestle,

  Thou shalt chain his light limbs though he strive;

  In his lips all thy serpents shall nestle,

  In his hands all thy cruelties thrive.

  In the daytime thy voice shall go through him,

  In his dreams he shall feel thee and ache;

  Thou shalt kindle by night and subdue him

  Asleep and awake.

   

  Gleaming black vetiver, bay laurel, opoponax, hiba wood, Spanish moss, clove, and leather accord.

  Out of Stock