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`O Tiger-lily,' said Alice, addressing herself to one that was waving gracefully about in the wind, `I wish you could talk!' `We can talk,' said the Tiger-lily: `when there's anybody worth talking to." Alice was so astonished that she could not speak for a minute: it quite seemed to take her breath away. At length, as the Tiger-lily only went on waving about, she spoke again, in a timid voice -- almost in a whisper. `And can all the flowers talk?' `As well as you can,' said the Tiger-lily. `And a great deal louder.' Tiger-lily, ginger root, neroli, purple fruits, and frankincense. imp: this smells like spicy fruit. plus neroli. very pungent. wet: the lily appears once wet and it is strong. the neroli give it a sharp bite. not getting any fruit anymore. dry: luckily, the lily fades (i'm not too crazy about lily) and the ginger and neroli become very spicy-sharp. there is a dusty sort of feel in the background that i suspect is the frankincense. alas, no fruits at all on my skin.

How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour And gather honey all the day From every opening flower! How skilfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads the wax! And labours hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labour or of skill, I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be passed, That I may give for every day Some good account at last. Pollen-dusted honey, diligent tonka, steadfast chamomile, and goodly hyssop. Mocked by How Doth the Little Crocodile. imp: wow, honeyed chamomile, this smells like sweetened chamomile tea. wet: the tonka appears and makes this sweet, creamy scent that really reminds me of herbal tea, this is extraordinarily relaxing. not getting any hyssop yet. dry: the chamomile fades after a bit, so this remains a honeyed tonka scent, really sweet and feminine.

ROSES, PEARLS, AND DIAMONDS The youngest, who was the very picture of her father for courtesy and sweetness of temper, was withal one of the most beautiful girls ever seen. As people naturally love their own likeness, this mother even doted on her eldest daughter and at the same time had a horrible aversion for the youngest--she made her eat in the kitchen and work continually. Among other things, this poor child was forced twice a day to draw water above a mile and a-half off the house, and bring home a pitcher full of it. One day, as she was at this fountain, there came to her a poor woman, who begged of her to let her drink. "Oh! ay, with all my heart, Goody," said this pretty little girl; and rinsing immediately the pitcher, she took up some water from the clearest place of the fountain, and gave it to her, holding up the pitcher all the while, that she might drink the easier. The good woman, having drunk, said to her: You are so very pretty, my dear, so good and so mannerly, that I cannot help giving you a gift." For this was a fairy, who had taken the form of a poor country woman, to see how far the civility and good manners of this pretty girl would go. "I will give you for a gift," continued the Fairy, "that, at every word you speak, there shall come out of your mouth either a flower or a jewel." When this pretty girl came home her mother scolded her for staying so long at the fountain. "I beg your pardon, mamma," said the poor girl, "for not making more haste." And in speaking these words there came out of her mouth two roses, two pearls, and two diamonds. Red roses, dazzling crystalline musks, and pearlescent coconut-tinged orris. imp: orris! beautiful, soft orris! wet: the rose really wants to dominate this blend but for once it's being contained. the coconut-tinged orris is amazingly beautiful and balances the rose well-enough so that it has not turned soapy on me! dry: the rose just vanishes alltogether after about ten minutes. i was really worried this blend would not work on me since rose tends to amp like crazy and turn soapy. i need not have worried at all! in fact, this might be a bottle purchase for me!

THE BUTTERFLY Then one afternoon the butterfly wobbled out of a breeze and lit on the tip of her horn. He was velvet all over, dark and dusty, with golden spots on his wings, and he was as thin as a flower petal. Dancing along her horn, he saluted her with his curling feelers. “I am a roving gambler. How do you do?” Fuzzy brown tonka bean, golden amber, bergamot, and petitgrain. imp: getting pretty strong bergamot from the imp. wet: this sort of reminds me of sol invictus, but with bergamot. very bright citrus and amber. dry: as this dries, the bergamot fades so a nice understated note. this is mostly amber on my skin with hints of tonka.

THE HARLOT'S HOUSE We caught the tread of dancing feet, We loitered down the moonlit street, And stopped beneath the harlot's house. Inside, above the din and fray, We heard the loud musicians play The "Treues Liebes Herz" of Strauss. Like strange mechanical grotesques, Making fantastic arabesques, The shadows raced across the blind. We watched the ghostly dancers spin To sound of horn and violin, Like black leaves wheeling in the wind. Like wire-pulled automatons, Slim silhouetted skeletons Went sidling through the slow quadrille. The took each other by the hand, And danced a stately saraband; Their laughter echoed thin and shrill. Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed A phantom lover to her breast, Sometimes they seemed to try to sing. Sometimes a horrible marionette Came out, and smoked its cigarette Upon the steps like a live thing. Then, turning to my love, I said, "The dead are dancing with the dead, The dust is whirling with the dust." But she--she heard the violin, And left my side, and entered in: Love passed into the house of lust. Then suddenly the tune went false, The dancers wearied of the waltz, The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl. And down the long and silent street, The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet, Crept like a frightened girl. The dead are dancing with the dead, the dust is whirling with the dust: angel’s trumpet, violet, white sandalwood, oude, copaiba balsam, angelica, white tea, olibanum, and oakmoss. imp: sandalwood and tea. this has a very bright feel to it. wet: the sandalwood is oddly absent once applied. the tea is still quite strong though. i can't pick out many of the other notes on this one, it's a bright, green smelling scent. i was really hoping the violet would be stronger but i can't smell it at all! dry: the sandalwood has re-appeared and has balanced the tea nicely while i can barely pick out the oude and angelica. this has a cool, fresh feel to it but tea scents always smell that way to me.

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night doth cause the ocean to attend upon her, and he, as long as she is in sight, with his full tide is ready here to honor; But when the silver waggon of the Moon is mounted up so high he cannot follow, the sea calls home his crystal waves to morn, and with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow. Silver-dusted lotus, white amber, rose otto, passion flower, white sandalwood, buttonweed, and white poppy. bottle: this is a very light scent but i can catch a bare hint of sandalwood. wet: both the amber and the sandalwood warm up instantly once applied, while the lotus stays gently in the background. dry: this dries to a sweet soft amber and lotus scent on my skin.

VERITAS Falsehood has no feet: now and again something that is false can start off successfully, but with time, Truth will always prevail. The essence of honesty, integrity, and veracity: frankincense, white carnation, angelica, chamomile, and heliotrope. imp: very soft florals. wet: lovely warm sandalwood and angelica. the carnation lends this a creaminess. very pretty! dry: i smell more heliotrope as this dries but it's pretty soft under the sandalwood. the angelica seems to have faded somewhat but i can still detect a teensy bit.

THE NINTH CAGE The unicorn hardly heard him. She turned and turned in her prison, her body shrinking from the touch of the iron bars all around her. No creature of man’s night loves cold iron, and while the unicorn could endure its presence, the murderous smell of it seemed to turn her bones to sand and her blood to rain. The bars of her cage must have had some sort of spell on them, for they never stopped whispering evilly to one another in clawed, pattering voices. A claustrophobic blend of iron and oak. imp: strong metallic and wood, though not specifically oak... wet: very oak-y, strong and true. this will probably layer well. dry: the metallic note is pretty tame on me, blends nicely with the wood which, while quite strong, is pretty nice.

The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good- natured, she thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect. `Cheshire Puss,' she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. `Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on. `Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?' `That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat. `I don't much care where --' said Alice. `Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat. `-- so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation. `Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, `if you only walk long enough.' Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. `What sort of people live about here?' `In THAT direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round, `lives a Hatter: and in THAT direction,' waving the other paw, `lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.' `But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked. `Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.' `How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice. `You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.' A lunatic's blend of lunar herbs and blossoms, with lemongrass, guava, pink grapefruit, banyan fruit, hibiscus, and cherry blossom. bottle: citrusy guava and sweet-tart fruits wet: wow! guava and grapefruit and hibiscus heaven! dry: this dries to a sweeter, fruitier grapefruit scent. incredibly playful. A note from your mod: A Little Lunacy is for the three-day-only full-moon scents. Cheshire Moon was up for a month, so it's staying in the general LE forum. --Shollin

GRIEF It is not well, therefore, to mourn long for the departed; else Grief, whose sole pleasure is in such mourning, will be quick to send fresh cause for tears. Inconsolable: lily of the valley, hyacinth, calamus, muguet, hydrangea, and elemi. imp: mixed florals, nothing stands out too much. wet: this is mostly lily on my skin. the other florals are indistinct. dry: the lily just keeps getting softer and softer and i can finally pick out both hyacinth and hydrangea, if only a little. a very nice springtime scent.

GINGER SKULLS Zingy crystallized ginger candies with quince and Asian pear. bottle: reminds me of sugar skull. very sweet, lightly flowery but with a zing of spice. wet: once applied i can really smell the quince! this is really lovely! soft and fruity, a bit sugary and just the right amount of spice. dry: as this dries, it gets a bit less sugary yet a bit more spicy. it's a nice quince and sweet ginger scent on my skin.

ARACHNE OF LYDIA Rukh was standing before a cage that contained nothing but a small brown spider weaving a modest web across the bars. “Arachne of Lydia,” he told the crowd. “Guaranteed the greatest weaver in the world — her fate’s the proof of it. She had the bad luck to defeat the goddess Athena in a weaving contest. Athena was a sore loser, and Arachne is now a spider, creating only for Mommy Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival, by special arrangement. Warp of snow and woof of flame, and never any two the same. Arachne.” Strung on the loom of iron bars, the web was very simple and almost colorless, except for an occasional rainbow shiver when the spider scuttled out on it to put a thread right. But it drew the onlookers’ eyes — and the unicorn’s eyes as well — back and forth and steadily deeper, until they seemed to be looking down into great rifts in the world, black fissures that widened remorselessly and yet would not fall into pieces as long as Arachne’s web held the world together. The unicorn shook herself free with a sigh, and saw the real web again. It was very simple, and almost colorless. “It isn’t like the others,” she said. “No,” Schmendrick agreed grudgingly. “But there’s no credit due to Mommy Fortuna for that. You see, the spider believes. She sees those cat’s-cradles herself and thinks them her own work. Belief makes all the difference to magic like Mommy Fortuna’s. Why, if that troop of witlings withdrew their wonder, there’d be nothing left of all her witchery but the sound of a spider weeping. And no one would hear it.” Soft brown and Tyrian purple: dusty clove and blackcurrant. imp: this is a beautiful clove scent. wet: perfect blackcurrant over clove. this is so wonderfully simple, yet lovely. dry: the clove fades a bit but not much while the black currant stays sweet.

ROCKING-HORSE-FLY ` -- then you don't like all insects?' the Gnat went on, as quietly as if nothing had happened. `I like them when they can talk,' Alice said. `None of them ever talk, where I come from.' `What sort of insects do you rejoice in, where YOU come from?' the Gnat inquired. `I don't REJOICE in insects at all,' Alice explained, `because I'm rather afraid of them -- at least the large kinds. But I can tell you the names of some of them." `Of course they answer to their names?' the Gnat remarked carelessly. `I never knew them do it.' `What's the use of their having names the Gnat said, `if they won't answer to them?' `No use to THEM,' said Alice; `but it's useful to the people who name them, I suppose. If not, why do things have names at all?' `I can't say,' the Gnat replied. `Further on, in the wood down there, they've got no names -- however, go on with your list of insects: you're wasting time.' `Well, there's the Horse-fly,' Alice began, counting off the names on her fingers. `All right,' said the Gnat: `half way up that bush, you'll see a Rocking-horse-fly, if you look. It's made entirely of wood, and gets about by swinging itself from branch to branch.' `What does it live on?' Alice asked, with great curiosity. `Sap and sawdust,' said the Gnat. `Go on with the list.' Alice looked up at the Rocking-horse-fly with great interest, and made up her mind that it must have been just repainted, it looked so bright and sticky; and then she went on. Shellacked wood, sap, sawdust, and privet. imp: bright green woods. wet: this is a very fresh-cut woodsy/shrubby scent. like when you snip back your hedges. dry: dry aquatic with fresh wood.

Sake, apricot, and blonde wood. bottle: this is mostly apricot with a light sake scent in the background. wet: this is very apricoty! the wood note is lovely here and reminds me of the scent of drinking sake out of wooden cups. dry: this dries to simply a lightly boozy apricot. not nearly as boozy as grand guignol though.

Perchta, the Shining One, is the Lady of the Beasts, an incarnation of the goddess Holda. She, too, leads the Wild Hunt, and is the protectress of wild animals, and appears to mortals as either a white-clad, white-skinned, white-haired beauty, or as a brutish, bestial hag. She is called Berhte Mit Dem Fuoze; one of her feet is shaped like a beast's, which gives away her superhuman nature no matter how she is disguised. She is also called Perchta the Belly-Slitter, for, at Yuletide, she castigates the wicked, slovenly, and idle, and rewards those that are generous, good-natured, and kind. The Belly-Slitter enforced community taboos, punishing those that spun during holy days and those who failed to partake in sacred feasts, thus jeopardizing the next year's harvest. Her punishments can be a bit over-the-top, though: they include disemboweling the transgressor and filling the empty cavity with refuse. Her scent is a blend of wild musk, snow, and alpine flora: Nigritella lithopolitanica, aconite, crocus, touch-me-not, edelweiss, Iris variegate, and violet. bottle: very light snowy pines. this reminds me of old moon a bit, just less strong. wet: this reminds me very closely of old moon, but the pine is less strong, it's more a sweet pine and flowers. dry: i really never got any violet or musk to speak of. this is a light, soft snowy floral. (edited because somehow i posted this before i was done typing my review.)

EKHIDNA This was the divine and haughty Ekhidna, and half of her is a Nymphe with a fair face and eyes glancing, but the other half is a monstrous ophis, terrible, enormous and squirming and voracious, there in earth's secret places. For there she has her cave on the underside of a hollow rock, far from the immortal gods, and far from all mortals. There the gods ordained her a fabulous home to live in which she keeps underground among the Arimoi, grisly Ekhidna, a Nymphe who never dies, and all her days she is ageless. Mother of Monsters, the Eel of Tartarus, Queen of the Dark Forest, Serpent Womb. Consort to Typhon, the Rotting Lamprey was born from the residual scum left behind after from the Great Deluge. All the corruptions of the earth: mandrake, dark myrrh, seaweed, swampy moss, black pepper, pimento, opoponax, tobacco absolute, and tarry clove. imp: myrrh, moss, opoponax, pepper... dark and beautiful! wet: the myrrh is the most dominant note here, sinuous and dark. i keep catching whiffs of many of the other notes but htey are very hard to detect over the myrrh. dry: this dries to a peppery myrrh blend, i tend to amp both myrrh and pepper notes though. thinking i'll be needing a bottle of this one!

The baby moon, a canoe, a silver papoose canoe, sails and sails in the Indian west. A ring of silver foxes, a mist of silver foxes, sit and sit around the Indian moon. One yellow star for a runner, and rows of blue stars for more runners, keep a line of watchers. O foxes, baby moon, runners, you are the panel of memory, fire-white writing to-night of the Red Man's dreams. Who squats, legs crossed and arms folded, matching its look against the moon-face, the star-faces, of the West? Who are the Mississippi Valley ghosts, of copper foreheads, riding wiry ponies in the night?-no bridles, love-arms on the pony necks, riding in the night a long old trail? Why do they always come back when the silver foxes sit around the early moon, a silver papoose, in the Indian west? Snow-blanketed wild grasses, sage, swamp tea, cedar, giniminagawunj, copal, rosehip, juniper, clover, elderberry, sweet flag, butterfly weed, wood sorrel, and pine. bottle: i get sweet pine, sage and a spicy grassy woody-sweet scent. wet: this has a cold scent to it, sort of a slushy-sweet pine scent. there's a definite crisp berry sweetness in the background. dry: this dries to soft, spiced woods on my skin. this puts me in mind of the kodama forest in the film mononoke hime. (edited because i forgot to put the dates in the title)

In the stark darkness of February, food is so scarce that some are forced to chew bones and make marrow soup for nourishment. It is a time when we honor our ancestors with fasting, solemn ritual, and reflection on the triumphs and accomplishments of those who have passed before us. White sandalwood, dry cedar, and radiant, crisp lunar herbs. bottle: lovely sandalwood and cedar, this is very woodsy. wet: this is mostly cedar on me with a nice whiff of sandalwood to give it a creamy feel. i thought this was going to be a dark, oppressive scent but it smells bright somehow. dry: this dries to a very nice woodsy scent, it's primarily cedar but whatever the lunar herbs are give this a more all-around woodsy/shrubby feel.

Rice paper, white gardenia, and raw honey. bottle: this is pure, sweet honeyed gardenia. wet: this is mega-sweet, almost too sweet for me. i don't get rice paper just hyper gardenia slathered in honey. dry: as this dries, it really does take on a light, tissue-y sort of feel. the honey fades to make this a more tame gardenia

Strong as death, and cruel as the grave, Clothed with cloud and tempest's blackening breath, Known of death's dread self, whom none outbrave, Strong as death, Love, brow-bound with anguish for a wreath, Fierce with pain, a tyrant-hearted slave, Burns above a world that groans beneath. Hath not pity power on thee to save, Love? hath power no pity? Nought he saith, Answering: blind he walks as wind or wave, Strong as death. Unloving love: benzoin, Indian musk, massoia bark, myrrh, ambrette seed, galbanum, bergamot, and fir. imp: it's difficult to tell what i'm smelling here. it smells like sweetened pine bark right after it's been peeled off the tree. wet: the myrrh is the strongest note while this is wet, this reminds me a bit of mort de cesar. there is still a woody/bark sort of scent but it's indistinct. there is also a faint sweetness, ambrette perhaps? dry: this sweetens bit by bit while it dries until it is a lightly sweet, fresh wood and myrrh scent. there is just the faintest trace of bergamot as well. this puts me in mind of wandering all over wild, undeveloped areas while a warm breeze blows all the scents of the woods over me.

THE LILAC WOOD It was always spring in her forest, because she lived there, and she wandered all day among the great beech trees, keeping watch over the animals that lived in the ground and under bushes, in nests and caves, earths and treetops. Generation after generation, wolves and rabbits alike, they hunted and loved and had children and died, and as the unicorn did none of these things, she never grew tired of watching them. Ageless trees, everblooming flowers, brilliant grass, and soft shadows. imp: sweet, watery grass. wet: just lovely. grassy (soft, not sharp) and floral but in the gentlest way possible. this smells peaceful. dry: i didn't expect to like this one as much as i do, it's wet greenery and soft new grass.

Chrysanthemum, marigold, golden sandalwood, vanilla, cinnamon, and amber incense. bottle: i get light sandalwood and a sweet vanilla-y amber scent. wet: this is very light on the chrysanthemum, the sandalwood and amber wake this a warm golden scent. and i normally have a terrible reaction to cinnamon but there is absolutely no burn here (whew!). dry: this dries to a sweet and faintly spicy amber scent. very lovely.

According to William Shepard Walsh, the Gentleman's Magazine for May of 1784 stated, "this is a constant ingredient at merrymaking on Holy Eve." He also quotes Vallancey's etymological speculation: "The first day of November was dedicated to the angel presiding over fruits, seeds, etc., and was therefore named La Mas Ubhal, -- that is, the day of the apple fruit, -- and being pronounced Lamasool, the English have corrupted the name to Lambs-wool." A popular holy day beverage in 18th century Ireland: roasted apples mashed into warmed milk and ale, with nutmeg, sugar, ginger, and clove. bottle: softly sweet, warm spiced milk. this is not the same jarring milk note that i get from milk moon 2007 though, it's far more soft. wet: i can definitely smell the ale as this warms a bit on my skin. it's not "boozy" per se, just there. i get the mashed apple scent too. the milk and spices have faded quite a bit to be almost just a faint trace. dry: very lovely. the milk note creeps back in after about 15-20 minutes and mixes well with the apple. this reminds me of baked apples, filled with oatmeal and spices and covered in cream. (edited for spelling idiocy)

(given out at the november 2010 will call canned food drive) imp: sweet, spicy, creamy citrus. wet: this reminds me of the citrus tea cake i bake during the holidays. it's slightly spicy, richly creamy with the brightness of citrus like a halo. dry: this doesn't change at all from wet to dry. it's a beautiful scent, very festive, light & cheerful.

A frimp with each Black Helicopter purchase. No description available. imp: bright, sweet metallic. wet: this smells a bit like a light, sweet aquatic over a bright metallic. not jarring or sharp at all, very clean and tame. dry: as this dries, an almost tart accent emerges. not citrus, but that sort of effervescent feel. i like this more than almost any other metallic scent i've ever tried. (edited for spelling idiocy)