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  Defututa Perfume Oil

  Good Gods, what a night that was,
  The bed was so soft, and how we clung,
  Burning together, lying this way and that,
  Our uncontrollable passions
  Flowing through our mouths.
  If I could only die that way,
  I’d say goodbye to the business of living.

  Olive blossom, honey, smoky vanilla, cinnamon, jasmine, sandalwood, and champaca flower.

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  Arachne of Lydia Perfume Oil

  Rukh was standing before a cage that contained nothing but a small brown spider weaving a modest web across the bars. “Arachne of Lydia,” he told the crowd. “Guaranteed the greatest weaver in the world – her fate’s the proof of it. She had the bad luck to defeat the goddess Athena in a weaving contest. Athena was a sore loser, and Arachne is now a spider, creating only for Mommy Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival, by special arrangement. Warp of snow and woof of flame, and never any two the same. Arachne.”

  Strung on the loom of iron bars, the web was very simple and almost colorless, except for an occasional rainbow shiver when the spider scuttled out on it to put a thread right. But it drew the onlookers’ eyes – and the unicorn’s eyes as well – back and forth and steadily deeper, until they seemed to be looking down into great rifts in the world, black fissures that widened remorselessly and yet would not fall into pieces as long as Arachne’s web held the world together. The unicorn shook herself free with a sigh, and saw the real web again. It was very simple, and almost colorless.

  “It isn’t like the others,” she said. “No,” Schmendrick agreed grudgingly. “But there’s no credit due to Mommy Fortuna for that. You see, the spider believes. She sees those cat’s-cradles herself and thinks them her own work. Belief makes all the difference to magic like Mommy Fortuna’s. Why, if that troop of witlings withdrew their wonder, there’d be nothing left of all her witchery but the sound of a spider weeping. And no one would hear it.”

  Soft brown and Tyrian purple: dusty clove and blackcurrant.

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• 

  Knave of Hearts Perfume Oil

  ‘Herald, read the accusation!’ said the King.

  On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:–

  ‘The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
  All on a summer day:
  The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,
  And took them quite away!’

  Crushed roses and blackcurrant tarts.

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• 

  Eat Me Hair Gloss

  Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words ‘EAT ME’ were beautifully marked in currants.
  
  ‘Well, I’ll eat it,’ said Alice, ‘and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I’ll get into the garden, and I don’t care which happens!’
  
  She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, ‘Which way? Which way?’, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.
  
  Three white cakes, vanilla, and red and black currants.
  
  BPAL’s Eat Me is not for eating. Please use common sense, and remember: hair glosses are for external use only.

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