doomsday_disco
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I've tested this three times on myself, and once on my partner. The first time I tested this was the best time I tested this. Here's the review I shared with another member of the forum: "Bright red cherry that's more like the cherry on the outside of a tootsie pop, similar to the cherry in Lilith Poundcake, but amped up, with some tartness from the red currant, a little bit of industrialness from the ink, and some creamy vanilla. The ink is really subtle in this, though!" However, the next two times I tested this, the cherry was quickly overtaken by the currant note. So bright cherry, quickly overtaken by the tart currant, and that just lasts and lasts with only a smudge of ink and hardly any vanilla cream anymore. This is also how it smelled on my partner, who said, "I'm not getting a lot of cherry from this" after I slathered it on them. But maybe we're just both amping the currant? It's still good, but I'm a little sad that it has gotten less cherry and vanilla forward as it has had some time to settle. I'll be hanging onto my bottle to see how this ages, but I really wish the cherry would stick around.
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The moment when the vivid pigments of autumn recede and the forest exhales into browns and golds. It’s the taste of bark, the scent of soil, the quiet dignity of endings. The tannins remain when all else drains away, leaving a leathery resilience; the echo of structure, the memory of what once was green. It is autumn’s afterimage: subdued, steadfast, and softly beautiful in its restraint. Brown jelly with yellow and green micro shimmer.
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The art of surrender, the moment when green life releases its hold and transforms into fire. It’s the graceful unraveling of chlorophyll, revealing the hidden pigments that have waited all year beneath the surface. Each leaf becomes a brief flare of gold, crimson, or bronze — a final, luminous exultation before the fall. Antiqued brass red jelly with a golden-yellow and green shift.
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Sweet and strange, like a love letter scribbled at midnight. Soft pink jelly with an iridescent shift, semi-sheer.
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The fading of color under relentless sunlight, obliterating pigments until the leaf is nearly luminous, pale, and ethereal. It’s the quiet surrender of golds and reds to light itself, a whisper of brilliance that lingers in ghostly reflection. Like frost catching the last sunbeam, photobleaching turns vibrance into serenity, leaving the leaf luminous in its delicate, waning glow. Light consuming what it once created: a translucent pearl white with a glowing blue shift that can be painted on its own or used as a topper.
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Mellow, honeyed light that lingers after chlorophyll’s retreat. It paints the leaves in shades of corn silk and marigold, a gentle radiance that doesn’t blaze but glows from within. Lutein is the warmth that softens the edges of decay, the quiet joy that remains when all else fades. Sparkling sunny yellow.
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The dimming of autumn’s lantern: sunlight softening as it filters through thinning canopies, scattering into bronze and rust. The leaves catch what light remains, turning it to fire before letting it fade, the blaze surrendering to shadow. Shimmering rust with the shifting shades of dropping leaves.
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Witchlight in a bottle: crisp orchard green charged with supernatural glow. Spooky apple green with brilliantly eerie orange shimmer.
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The crunch of leaves beneath your feet: an autumnal jelly packed with glittering, falling flecks. The forest floor caught in mid-rustle.
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A sudden, passionate flare before the frost. It floods the veins of the dying leaf with crimson and wine, a defiant burst of color born from stress and sunlight. Where carotene glows warm and steady, cyanidin burns — fierce, fleeting, and emotional. It is the leaf’s last heartbeat made visible, a brief rebellion against the coming cold. Umber oxblood duochrome.
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The green blood of life itself, coursing through every vein with the vibrant glee of sunlight turned to sugar. As it breaks down, the forest exhales its last green sigh, and the world begins to dream in gold. The forest’s heartbeat, pulsing beneath decay — a vivid, vegetal gleam: deep olive jelly with orange and green spark.
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A semi-translucent orange jelly shimmer, gleaming with hope. Sunlight stored in secret through the long green months. When the chlorophyll fades, carotene rises like memory, painting the trees in gold and amber. It’s the whisper of summer lingering in every flame-colored edge, the warmth that endures even as the world cools. A quiet glow that says: even in decay, there is light.
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I've tested this a few times, and I get a salty, mineralic lemonade from this, accompanied by some sweet almond and something silvery that's not a metal note (at one point, I thought I had this pinpointed, but I've since forgotten as I'm typing this review, so I guess I'll have to test it again to try to identify whatever that silvery note is). Of the three scents released in the second batch of Gorey scents, I enjoyed this one the most. It's not in the same league as La Dame Aux Pamplemousses, though! I'll be keeping my decant, and I'll have to see how much I reach for it to see if I need a bottle.
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Pumpkin Root Beer Float really does smell like a creamy root beer float -- emphasis on the root beer float, but the pumpkin is also present, adding a bit more warmth and some mild pumpkin spice to this creamy root beer scent. This is a more accurate root beer float scent than Astrid's Root Beer Float, which smelled more like root beer barrel candies on my skin than the actual thing. I've worn this three times; it has decent throw and longevity on me, and the ice cream note makes the scent really nice and creamy by the end of the day. I have a lot of root beer/sassafras scents, but I may end up needing a back-up bottle of this one. I enjoy it way more than Pumpkin Tombstone, and I can see it getting a lot of wear during late summer/early fall while waiting for Halloween. And now I've got to wear this as a scent of the day and make a pumpkin root beer float just to see how one would actually taste!
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Violets and I generally do not get along, but I gave this one a chance due to all of the other notes, and because the violet and vanilla chiffon duet from last year ended up being a win on me. I get more violet than lavender from this, although the violet here is much more gentle than most violet is on my skin. I've tested this three times, and all three times, the violet was the star of the show on me. However, the first time I tried this, it was more like if you took Lush's Twilight and made it with more violet than lavender (although that's making this sound way more lavender-forward than this scent really is), with a soft myrrh and musk in place of any tonka. But the second and third time I tried this, I was like, "Violet and honeydew?" And now that I've thought that, it's what I smell whenever I sniff this scent. I believe it's the spun sugar note that is giving off that honeydew quality, because I've experienced that in some of Astrid's scents containing a spun sugar note. It does help lend a sort of ethereal vibe to this scent, but I enjoyed this the most the first time I tested it, when the other notes got to play a bigger role. I think this is very pretty and will have to spend more time with my decant to see if I need more of it. That said, I'm very happy that I decided to give this a chance despite my tendency to avoid scents with violet notes!