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  Dance of Death Perfume Oil

  Carrying bouquet, and handkerchief, and gloves,
  Proud of her height as when she lived, she moves
  With all the careless and high-stepping grace,
  And the extravagant courtesan’s thin face.

  Was slimmer waist e’er in a ball-room wooed?
  Her floating robe, in royal amplitude,
  Falls in deep folds around a dry foot, shod
  With a bright flower-like shoe that gems the sod.

  The swarms that hum about her collar-bones
  As the lascivious streams caress the stones,
  Conceal from every scornful jest that flies,
  Her gloomy beauty; and her fathomless eyes

  Are made of shade and void; with flowery sprays
  Her skull is wreathed artistically, and sways,
  Feeble and weak, on her frail vertebrae.
  O charm of nothing decked in folly! they

  Who laugh and name you a Caricature,
  They see not, they whom flesh and blood allure,
  The nameless grace of every bleached, bare bone,
  That is most dear to me, tall skeleton!

  Come you to trouble with your potent sneer
  The feast of Life! or are you driven here,
  To Pleasure’s Sabbath, by dead lusts that stir
  And goad your moving corpse on with a spur?

  Or do you hope, when sing the violins,
  And the pale candle-flame lights up our sins,
  To drive some mocking nightmare far apart,
  And cool the flame hell lighted in your heart?

  Fathomless well of fault and foolishness!
  Eternal alembic of antique distress!
  Still o’er the curved, white trellis of your sides
  The sateless, wandering serpent curls and glides.

  And truth to tell, I fear lest you should find,
  Among us here, no lover to your mind;
  Which of these hearts beat for the smile you gave?
  The charms of horror please none but the brave.

  Your eyes’ black gulf, where awful broodings stir,
  Brings giddiness; the prudent reveller
  Sees, while a horror grips him from beneath,
  The eternal smile of thirty-two white teeth.

  For he who has not folded in his arms
  A skeleton, nor fed on graveyard charms,
  Recks not of furbelow, or paint, or scent,
  When Horror comes the way that Beauty went.

  O irresistible, with fleshless face,
  Say to these dancers in their dazzled race:
  “Proud lovers with the paint above your bones,
  Ye shall taste death, musk scented skeletons!

  Withered Antinoüs, dandies with plump faces,
  Ye varnished cadavers, and grey Lovelaces,
  Ye go to lands unknown and void of breath,
  Drawn by the rumour of the Dance of Death.

  From Seine’s cold quays to Ganges’ burning stream,
  The mortal troupes dance onward in a dream;
  They do not see, within the opened sky,
  The Angel’s sinister trumpet raised on high.

  In every clime and under every sun,
  Death laughs at ye, mad mortals, as ye run;
  And oft perfumes herself with myrrh, like ye
  And mingles with your madness, irony!

  A gloriously elegant representation of Lady Death. Dry, bone-white orris, black musk, serpentine patchouli and our murkiest myrrh.

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  Arachnina, The Spider Girl Perfume Oil

  You move towards the first stage on your right, and as you walk, you feel something brush across your cheek. Something about the softness of the phantom caress makes your skin crawl, and you flinch involuntarily. At that moment, the Spider Girl strides haughtily onto the platform, her stiletto heels clicking a strange staccato as she walks. Her body is wrapped in skin-tight strips of black PVC, and the gleaming vinyl glistens in stark contrast to the alabaster skin on her six pale, white arms. She gestures to the rafters above with a graceful flick of her blood-red nails. In dread, your eyes are drawn skyward: above her, in a gossamer snare, web-shrouded bodies twist and struggle.

  A swirling, hypnotic perfume of black currant, poppy, red and black musk, lilies, nicotiana, tobacco tar, and patchouli.

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• 

  Divinities Implacable, Doom-Laden Perfume Oil

  Myrrh, black musk, labdanum, and rose.

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• 

  Mr. Croup Perfume Oil

  ‘A fox and a wolf’, thought Richard, involuntarily. The man in front, the fox, was a little shorter than Richard. He had lank, greasy hair, of an unlikely orange color, and a pallid complexion; as Richard opened the door, he smiled, widely, and just a fraction too late, with teeth that looked like an accident in a graveyard.

  Pompous and predatory: tonka bean, black musk, bourbon geranium, and crushed porcelain.

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