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  Hetairae Perfume Oil

  The sublimely beautiful, fiercely independent, impeccably cultured, fascinatingly worldly and witty courtesans of ancient Greece. A seductive and dazzling blend of golden honey, fiery patchouli, sweet fig and clove, and a blushing touch of ylang ylang.

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  Tavern of Hell Perfume Oil

  Sometimes I would venture from my sepulchre to the jazz of night Paris, where having gathered the colours, I would think them over in front of the fire. I could be seen walking through a funeral corridor of my house and descending down a black spiral of steep stairs; rushing underground to Montmartre, all impatience to see the fiery rubies of the Moulin Rouge cross. I wondered thereabouts, then bought a ticket to watch frenzied delirium of feathers, vulgar painted lips and eyelashes of black and blue.

  Naked feet, and thighs, and arms, and breasts were being flung on me from bloody-red foam of translucent clothes. The tuxedoed goatees and crooked noses in white vests and toppers would line the hall, with their hands posed on canes. Then I found myself in a pub, where the liqueurs were served on a coffin (not a table) by the nickering devil: “Drink it, you wretched!” Having drunk, I returned under the black sky split by the flaming vanes, which the radiant needles of my eyelashes cross-hatched. In front of my nose a stream of bowler hats and black veils was still pulsing, foamy with bluish green and warm orange of feathers worn by the night beauties: to me they were all one, as I had to narrow my eyes for insupportable radiance of electric lamps, whose hectic fires would be dancing beneath my nervous eyelids for many a night to come.

  White gardenia, ambergris bouquet, lavender fougere, orange blossom, melissa, tobacco flower, coriander, ebony wood, ylang ylang, absinthe and aged whiskey.

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  The Harlot’s House Perfume Oil

  We caught the tread of dancing feet,
  We loitered down the moonlit street,
  And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.

  Inside, above the din and fray,
  We heard the loud musicians play
  The “Treues Liebes Herz” of Strauss.

  Like strange mechanical grotesques,
  Making fantastic arabesques,
  The shadows raced across the blind.

  We watched the ghostly dancers spin
  To sound of horn and violin,
  Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

  Like wire-pulled automatons,
  Slim silhouetted skeletons
  Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

  The took each other by the hand,
  And danced a stately saraband;
  Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

  Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
  A phantom lover to her breast,
  Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

  Sometimes a horrible marionette
  Came out, and smoked its cigarette
  Upon the steps like a live thing.

  Then, turning to my love, I said,
  “The dead are dancing with the dead,
  The dust is whirling with the dust.”

  But she–she heard the violin,
  And left my side, and entered in:
  Love passed into the house of lust.

  Then suddenly the tune went false,
  The dancers wearied of the waltz,
  The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

  And down the long and silent street,
  The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
  Crept like a frightened girl.

  The dead are dancing with the dead, the dust is whirling with the dust: angel’s trumpet, violet, white sandalwood, oude, copaiba balsam, angelica, white tea, olibanum, and oakmoss.

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  Red Perfume Oil

  Red Fraggle is a nonstop whirligig of activity. To her fellow Fraggles, Red is often seen as a flash of crimson racing to her next athletic pursuit. She is Fraggle Rock champion in Tug-of-War, Diving while Singing Backwards, the Blindfolded One-Legged Radish Relay, and a number of other traditional Fraggle sports. She is outgoing, enthusiastic, and athletic, but take note – her impetuosity can get her into real trouble.

  Sporty and energetic: sweet red currant, tangy cranberry, pink musk, and spicy pink pepper.

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