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  Death on a Pale Horse Perfume Oil

  And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

  The End of All Things: empty white musk and mint seeped with solemn lavender, doleful patchouli and vetiver, scythe-sharp yuzu and lime, with geranium bourbon, white sandalwood and calla lily.

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  Eve Perfume Oil

  Eve is eternal: in three-thousand years, she has likely traveled the length and breadth of the world, immersed in innumerable cultures throughout the ages, observing the ebb and flow of humanity and the imperishability of nature itself. Despite her age, she is the character that seems most rooted, always experiencing each moment with open eyes, always fully present.

  Her scent is one that travels through the eons: the Irish moss, yarrow, and hawthorn of the Iron Age Britons, ancient Rome’s omphacium and honey, myrrh and calamus from Egypt, the frankincense and damask roses of the Florentine Renaissance, white sandalwood from the Far East, Moroccan saffron and rose water, and a swirl of incense from the souks.

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  Lyonesse Perfume Oil

  Then rose the King and moved his host by night
  And ever pushed Sir Mordred, league by league,
  Back to the sunset bound of Lyonesse —
  A land of old upheaven from the abyss
  By fire, to sink into the abyss again;
  Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
  And the long mountains ended in a coast
  Of ever-shifting sand, and far away
  The phantom circle of a moaning sea.

  Golden vanilla and gilded musk, stargazer lily, white sandalwood, grey amber, elemi, orris root, ambergris and sea moss.

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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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