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  Incantation Perfume Oil

  Though thy slumber may be deep,
  Yet thy spirit shall not sleep;
  There are shades which will not vanish,
  There are thoughts thou canst not banish;
  By a power to thee unknown,
  Thou canst never be alone;
  Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
  Thou art gather’d in a cloud;
  And for ever shalt thou dwell
  In the spirit of this spell.

  A profound and entrancing potion. Deep, wispy, and unfathomably dark: vetiver, dark woods, crumbling and burnt black sandalwood and a drop of lemon rind.

  Select Options This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page
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  Ghûlheim Perfume Oil

  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.

  Out of Stock
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  Mr. Vandemar Perfume Oil

  The second of the visitors, a tall man, the one he had thought of as a wolf, his gray and black hair cut bristle-short, stood a little behind his friend, holding a stack of photocopies to his chest. He had said nothing until this moment—just waited, huge and impassive. Now he laughed, once, low and dirtily. There was something unhealthy about that laugh.

  Dark and gangly, with a glint of razor-sharp stainless steel behind it: opopponax, costus, black pepper, black sandalwood, and polished metal.

  Out of Stock
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  Sed Non Satiata Perfume Oil

  Strange goddess, brown as evening to the sight,
  Whose scent is half of musk, half of havanah,
  Work of some obi, Faust of the Savanah,
  Ebony witch, and daughter of the night.

  By far preferred to troth, or opium, or sleep,
  Love vaunts the red elixir of your mouth.
  My caravan of longings seeks in drouth
  Your eyes, the wells at which my cares drink deep.

  Through those black eyes, by which your soul respires,
  Pitiless demon! pour less scorching fires.
  I am no Styx nine times with flame to wed.

  Nor can I turn myself to Proserpine
  To break your spell, Megera libertine!
  Within the dark inferno of your bed.

  A pounding heartbeat coalesced into scent: demonic passion and brutal sexuality manifested through myrrh, red patchouli, cognac, honey, and tuberose and geranium in a breathy, panting veil over the darkest body musk.

  Select Options This product has multiple variants. The options may be chosen on the product page