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Weight | 1 oz |
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$29.00
Frans Floris the Elder
Control your own fate? You can’t even control your fête! A rollicking scent that upturns hierarchies and flies in the face of conventions: cacophonous red poppy, sweet almond cream, wildflower honey, molasses, gingerbread, scarlet jasmine, red amber, lemon peel, Spanish moss, and black musk.
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Weight | 1 oz |
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Ghouls do not build. They are parasites and scavengers, eaters of carrion. The city they call Ghûlheim is something they found, long ago, but did not make. No one they call knows (if anyone human ever knew) what kind of creatures it was that made those buildings, who honeycombed the rock with tunnels and towers, but it is certain that no-one but the ghoul-folk could have wanted to stay there, or even to approach that place.
Even from the path below Ghûlheim, even from miles away, Bod could see that all of the angles were wrong — that the walls sloped crazily, that it was every nightmare he had ever endured made into a place, like a huge mouth of jutting teeth. It was a city that had been built just to be abandoned, in which all the fears and madnesses and revulsions of the creatures who built it were made into stone. The ghoul folk had found it and delighted in it and called it home.
A dark and disjointed scent: smoke and black musk, bladderwrack, opopponax, galangal, and pepper.
This is the captured scent of a cold, moonless night, lost deep within the darkest wood. Haunting and desolate, this scent evokes images of fairy tale tragedy and half-remembered nightmares. Thick, viscous pine with ambergris, black musk, juniper and cypress.
As if, with beasts’ eyes, angels led
The way, I slip back to your bed,
Quiet as a hooded light,
Hushed by the shadows of the night.
And then, my dark one, you shall soon
Embrace the cold beams of the moon,
Around a fresh grave, the chilling hiss
Of serpent coiled shall be my kiss.
When morning shows his livid face
Your bed shall feel my empty place,
As cold as death, till fall of night.
Others take tenderness to wife:
Dread gives away your youth and life
To me, to be bride of fright.
Spectral white musk and the heart-stopping chill of sheared mint, fanned by caramel-touched body heat, and the diabolical sensuality of black musk, nicotiana, and sage.
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