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  Romans 13:8 Perfume Oil

  Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law.

  Almond, wild fig, red rose petals, cardamom, and oudh.

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  Molly Grue Perfume Oil

  Molly said something strange then, for a woman who never slept a night through without waking many times to see if the unicorn was still there, and whose dreams were all of golden bridles and gentle young thieves. “It’s the princesses who have no time,” she said. “The sky spins and drags everything along with it, princesses and magicians and poor Cully and all, but you stand still. You never see anything just once. I wish you could be a princess for a little while, or a flower, or a duck. Something that can’t wait.”

  She sang a verse of a doleful, limping song, halting after each line as she tried to recall the next.

  ‘Who has choices need not choose.
  We must, who have none.
  We can love but what we lose –
  What is gone is gone.’

  Schmendrick peered over the unicorn’s back into Molly’s territory. “Where did you hear that song?” he demanded. It was the first he had spoken to her since the dawn when she joined the journey. Molly shook her head.

  “I don’t remember. I’ve known it a long time.”

  The land had grown leaner day by day as they traveled on, and the faces of the folk they met had grown bitter with the brown grass; but to the unicorn’s eyes Molly was becoming a softer country, full of pools and caves, where old flowers came burning out of the ground. Under the dirt and indifference, she appeared only thirty-seven or thirty-eight years old – no older than Schmendrick, surely, despite the magician’s birthdayless face. Her rough hair bloomed, her skin quickened, and her voice was nearly as gentle to all things as it was when she spoke to the unicorn. The eyes would never be joyous, any more than they could ever turn green or blue, but they too had wakened in the earth. She walked eagerly into King Haggard’s realm on bare, blistered feet, and she sang often.

  An angry little beetle with her own kitchen beauty: fig, sesame, hazelnut, and cooking spices softened by rice flower.

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• 

  Drider Crossing Guard Perfume Oil

  A cautious, watchful scent: earthy, dry fig, black pepper, nutmeg, and black plum tea.

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  La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente Perfume Oil

  My limbs are wasted with a flame,
  My feet are sore with traveling,
  For, calling on my Lady’s name,
  My lips have now forgot to sing.

  O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
  Strain for my Love thy melody,
  O Lark sing louder for love’s sake,
  My gentle Lady passeth by.

  She is too fair for any man
  To see or hold his heart’s delight,
  Fairer than Queen or courtesan
  Or moonlit water in the night.

  Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
  (Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
  Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
  Of autumn corn are not more fair.

  Her little lips, more made to kiss
  Than to cry bitterly for pain,
  Are tremulous as brook-water is,
  Or roses after evening rain.

  Her neck is like white melilote
  Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
  The throbbing of the linnet’s throat
  Is not so sweet to look upon.

  As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
  White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,
  Her cheeks are as the fading stain
  Where the peach reddens to the south.

  O twining hands! O delicate
  White body made for love and pain!
  O House of love! O desolate
  Pale flower beaten by the rain!

  Soft, lush myrtle and dry, sweet melilot with wild rose, pomegranate juice and peach blossom against a background of deep aquatic notes and a twirl of melancholy autumn breezes.

  Out of Stock This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page