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A fast-acting, powerful scent used to overcome adversity through positive means. Attracts wealth, prestige, good health, and enhances others' opinions of you. Grants courage and steadfastness. Grapes. Immediately, I think grapes, herbs, and bundles of wildflowers laid on the ground. Not Jolly Rancher grape, but ripe, sweet red grape. Green herbs, not bitter in any sense of the word. There are no sharp edges to this scent, but it has such presence and distinction! There's an underlying similarity to Water of Notre Dame, perhaps in the aquatic nature of it. Unisex without being unfeminine - this would be very wearable for most anyone who didn't exclusively prefer "dry" scents.

An agricultural gargoyle. Though he is the Guardian of the Crops and Keeper of the Fields, his visage is still the stuff of nightmares. The scent of a hot wind blowing through desolate, scorched, barren fields. This up-and-coming scent is still listed as a work in progress, so the Imp I received with my order may or may not be what it turns out to be when it's released. At first, Scarecrow reminded me of cleaning my stove while it's still hot, but accidentally spraying some of the cleaning fluid too close to the burner. Absolutely a scorched, wet-turned-dry, and harsh smell when first applied to my skin. After a moment, though, Scarecrow is a slightly disturbing, oddly comforting blend of desiccation and dried grass - I can easily picture the stubble of a harvested crop, dried husks blowing across a Dust Bowl era field, and ground so thirsty it can barely offer its scent up to the stuffy-guy standing watch over it. Half an hour later, this is soft and light, but with a definite presence. It's golden, but not in the limpid sense of Aureus or dusty in the wooden sense of Seance. I'm used to Oklahoma's red clay and the black earth of Nebraska, but this is the faded, sun-dried, and cracked yellow earth landscape of Roland Deschain in Stephen King's Gunslinger series. I started out thinking I wouldn't be wearing this regularly, but I can't stop sniffing my wrist. It's going on my to-order list, without question.

A celebration of the Bone Church of Prague. Frankincense, rosewood, lily, and geranium rose. Immediately frankincense and lily, Kostnice settles into a surprisingly cool wood and green bouquet smell. The lilies are the more dry, almost powdery classic lily scent, and the rosewood is complemented by the green, slightly herbal note of the geranium rose. To me, this is much more the scent of a church than Cathedral is.

Dark musk and black amber with frankincense, red sandalwood, neroli and bergamot. First on, it's all musk and black amber, with a hint of of the bergamot. In just a couple of minutes, though, the red sandalwood starts to lead the pack. The neroli sort of hangs on top of the whole process, just making it's way in on the breeze when Titus walks up, but coming in heavier, lush waves on gusts of air while he's standing there. This stays remarkably balanced. After the first five minutes, it's an even, lightly powdery, very masculine scent with enduring wood and resin tones under it all. I can see why Beth's particularly pleased with this one - it's goooood. When I dream about my cowboy friend, this is how he smells.

From the Sin and Salvation collection: Voluptuous magnolias strewn over orchid, star jasmine, black amber and smoky rose. Prefaced with a reminder that my chemistry typically has problems with jasmine; you may want to take this into consideration, or even disregard, my review unless you have a similary tendency. Orchids. Roses. Oh, and now the amber's starting to warm up and make itself known. <sigh of pleasure> I can't believe that I've had this on for five minutes and the jasmine hasn't clawed its way to the top to generously give me the usual headache. The magnolia took a while to make itself known, but when it did - divine white blooms that smell big enough to cover a dinner plate, and transmitting almost effortlessly a sense of velvety petals with berry-coloured hearts. Complex and definitive, Black Dahlia turned out to be about the orchid, magnolia and amber, rather than having jasmine and rose take the lead. I'm not sure how Beth managed, since those two scents tend to dominate blends quite easily, but this a different kind of floral than we typically see. I'd consider a bottle, but can guarantee I'd use the whole imp.

A hazy, soft, veiled scent: mist floating through twilit skies, curling gently towards the heavens. Faint white tea, yuzu, perhaps?, and the "mystery green" that's been boggling me in recent scent additions. It's a pale, almost bamboo-like green, and it gives Empyreal Mist a feeling of dew on pale green stalks. Pastel floral, but not a pale one, creeps through, too - cherry blossom, I'm guessing. There's a large meadow in front of my parents' house, and it's bordered on one side by a fence and the other by five ancient pear trees. Empyreal Mist is a dense fog rolling in over that meadow, and I can smell what's just been covered and dampened, and everything close to the fog line is fuzzy and surreal. Another winner in the recent scent additions, although not my favorite of them. This would be perfect for those who find Old Shanghai to be too strong; it's light and feminine but has staying power.

A regal, commanding scent, but poignant. White cedarwood, blue sage and bay leaf. I grew up in the country, and our land was covered, like much of Oklahoma today, with red cedars. On the back side of the pond, just past the big rock dam that water trickled over and down into a crawdad hole, there was a huge cave created by overhanging cedar branches. My brother and I would crawl in oh-so-carefully to avoid getting the itchies, and play; I always loved to weave garlands out of flowers and grasses picked on the way to the hidey-hole. Lear is mostly cedar, although a drier version than the ones I grew up with, along with those broken and bent stems I tried so hard to make into a crown; barely green and leafy. Absolutely majestic, but in a quiet and reflective way. Dried down to a scent that was gentle with definite strength of will and character.

Blissful Love - Romance - Passion - Grace - Beauty - Joy Good Luck in Love and Money - Kindness - Affection - Artistic Inspiration and Success - Harmony - Reconciliation - Sensuosity - Charm - Elegance - Delight <span style='color:black'><span style='font-size:10pt;line-height:100%'><span style='font-family:Georgia'>This scent wavers between green and pink for me. Of course, I wanted Venus to be pink, and this is full of grace and feminity. It's so green, though - sort of like Water of Notre Dame, but on a very light and flowing side of that scent. I picture Venus standing like a statue, wearing a pale green dress that flows around her and moves in the evening breeze. There's a tiny pink rosebud over her ear, barely visible, but the rose begins to bloom as she stands with a hint of a smile. For me, Venus is Tarot: the Empress and Water of Notre Dame combined. Fantastic combination.</span></span></span>

When I put a dab of Blood Orange on to try it, I thought I must have gotten close to the other scent I was wearing that day. I moved to the other arm, sniffed around to be sure I wasn't going to do it again, and dabbed again. I wasn't as careless the first time as I'd thought, and that's a wonderful thing. You see, I thought Blood Orange smelled like you'd trapped a good-smelling man inside a fabulous orange candy, and well ... that seemed a little odd. First on, there's a distinct earthen tone that fades away; sort of like the difference in a vegetable that hasn't been washed yet and the way it smells after it's been washed. Blood oranges are much sweeter than regular oranges - kind of like putting an orange candy and a fruit punch candy in your mouth at the same time. Beth's single note dries to just that, and like most of her other single notes, there's not a hint of artificiality. One sniff of this and you'll never be able to not tell the notes apart in Akuma. I think this is really the most distinctive of the three fruits in Akuma, and the loveliest. I wish I had bought more of the single note while they were still out, because I'd make bath products for my three-year old with it. I'd much rather smell this in her hair than the grape kid's conditioner we use; in fact, if Beth has bath and body products some day, this would be a wonderful start to the kids' line.

A complex, voluptuous scent that captures the robust beauty of the Italian Renaissance: lemon, red currant, wisteria, red rose petals, heady jasmine, Florentine orris root, waterlily, red sandalwood, violet plum, and violet leaf. When we discussed this one on MUA, there were all sorts of interesting comments. One of the best was "Can a scent be red? An incredibly red jasmine that captures what I imagine Renaissance Venice would have been - bold, bright, voluptuous, and lush." I'm not a jasmine fan, but this isn't the headache-inducing type; it's very clear and rich. Others smelled violet plum, then waterlily, sandalwood, orris root, and other florals coming through. As a huge lemon fan, I'd be thrilled with just a bit more lemon and red currant to tarten things up, but the scent is a keeper as-is. Ultra-feminine, but don't confuse that with "girlie." This is wealthy, soft-skinned, full-bosomed Renaissance woman with rings on her fingers and a cup of wine in her hand.

From the Bewitching Brews collection: The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere - The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year: It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir - It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Starry white lilies lend an eerie brightness to the deep black wooded scents of cypress and oak, layered with a touch of crushed dried leaves and the faintest aquatic note. Out of the vial, I thought this was going to be an earthen, brown scent. On, it's nothing of the sort. The lilies are absolute gems, sparkling and delicate, and they have that crisp, almost powdery fruity sweetness that lilies seem to give off before they're overblown. They're delicate, but distinct over the cypress (I couldn't tell you what oak smells like, so I can't tell you if it's in here) that's so beautifully woody. This wavers back and forth between the lilies and a bark note that's reminiscent of cinnamon - not red hots cinnamon, but the soft, faded, gorgeous red that's in Mercury and the Lion. Now that I think about it, this could indeed be the scent of from the middle of an autumnal leaf pile, raked into a mound and waiting to be bagged up. Overall, Ulalume has solid staying power, and the unique sweetness of the lilies holds sway over the gentle wooden notes with delightful, ethereal beauty. [/size][/color][/font]

A piercing, radiant perfume: dragon's blood resin, lily of the valley, lilac and galbanum. Lilac, with just a hint of the lily of the valley, is the predominant scent here. The dragon's blood and galbanum make this more robust, without ever really taking over the scent - they're like the wooden pedestal the bowl of flowers is displayed on. Absolutely spring, like an armload of sweet, fresh flowers brought in out of the yard, with just a hint of resin from the church next door wafting through the open window.

Sweetly perfumed, like the branches that drooped over the entryway to my piano teacher's front door. This wisteria note starts out with a decided tang, almost to the point of resembling a cleaning fluid of some sort. Within a couple of minutes, though, it's settled into a fading lavender scent covered by the vibrant, almost stifling sweetness of wisteria in bloom.

I ordered a ton of rose-scented imps for my mom's Mother's Day present, and was delighted to open the package and find this fabulous lagniappe! If I have my history right, the French Quarter of New Orleans was originally called the Vieux Carre, or Old Square. This is a very pretty rose; soft and sweet. Makes me think of Old Venice, but with less brazenness, if that makes sense. It's very feminine, and with a gentle, warm tone. There might be a drop of jasmine and plum here, but I'd guess there's no lemon or red currant that you find in Venice because there's absolutely no sharpness to this scent. By no means does this have the throw of Old Venice. This is the kind of scent you find by nuzzling up against someone; it's reserved for intimate moments like a goodbye kiss or something much more personal. Actually, the more I wear this, the more I find my nose buried against my wrist. There's something fleeting and sexual, in a seemingly innocent and catch-me-if-you-can sort of way, buried in the notes of Vieux Carre. I'm going to revise the "drop of jasmine" to "a couple of drops of jasmine" and guess at a tiny bit of white musk. This has such a beautiful second-skin warmth to it, which seems odd considering it's definitely a floral, that I have to wonder about what Beth uses to heat it up so gently and caressingly. Staying power seems good; I've had it on about half an hour and it's still hovering close to my skin with the same intensity it started with. Quiet and graceful, Vieux Carre ensnares you so subtly that you don't notice you're head-over-heels until after the fact. Whatever the notes turn out to be, this is lovely. If you're on the fence about rose scents, put this on, let it dry down for a few minutes, and see if you can resist the southern charm.

Infuses you with immense amounts of courage and drive. Useful to help you recover from intense depression and ennui. Brings on a positive outlook, renews hope, and replenishes positive energy. Fills your spirit with the courage and nobility of a lion, warmed by the life-giving joy of its solar aspects. I didn't use this blend with specific intent, but more of a "I'm going to put this on, knowing I have a lousy and crazy day ahead of me, and see what happens" approach. From a purely scent aspect, this goes on with a trace of astringency that's not identifiably lavender, but has the feel of it. This blends so well with the slight green-stem scent that neither are really distinct, so I'm not able to offer any specific notes. Dry down is warm, fuzzy heliotrope with a hint of the green-purple surrounding it. Not leonine in the sense of The Mad Tea Party's Lion, but very definitely noble and "leader of the pack." As for the oil's description, even with my no-effort approach, I: plowed through obscene amounts of paperwork I'd had no desire to tackle, smiled effortlessly at clients I typically want to smack up the side of the head, didn't even cringe at the thought of tomorrow being more hectic, and came home to dance in the middle of the living room with my three-and-a-half year old daughter. Imagine what this blend can do with a little focus!

Calla lily surprised me, because I didn't realize it would be so very different from stargazer lily - which is what I think of when I see "lily" in a description. Instead of that classic lily scent, Calla Lily is sweeter and almost fruitily floral; much more like the delicate and unusual tone of orchid than what I was expecting. It's fantastic as a single note, and so luscious and clean that I'm going to buy a bottle for everyday wear.

Here's exactly what I think of when I look for a lily note - sweetly crisp, with just a hint of white floral lushness; perfect, and without teetering on the edge of being overblown and sickly (bouquets of lilies seem to go from perfect to wilting so very fast). Very, very nice, and the elegant, pearl-wearing, grown-up sister of Calla Lily.

Beth had two single notes in lavender, although one was never on the site; I was lucky enough to get an imp of both the French and Bulgarian lavenders long ago. The French Lavender is what I think of as "standard" lavender; it's crisp and the more astringent of the two. It's the note in Arcana and most of the other blends containing lavender. For those who think lavender is a sharp, rather medicinal smell, French Lavender is probably the one they're referring to. Although that pungent, camphor-like feel fades away in five or ten minutes, I've had friends who weren't lavender lovers tell me that was the part that really put them off. Beth's single note in French Lavender is the best I've tried. Yes, it has that pungency that comes with French Lavender, but it's much less sharp than many other lavender essential oils. Her single note also has wonderful staying power after that part fades away, so the herby floral goodness that's the best part of lavender lasts, unlike other versions. Lavender's a widely available scent, but this single note stands out. Rich and full, it's the best of what lavender should be.

Sweet, clean and vaguely guest-soapy. Faint cherry tones, but mostly a light, white floral.

Crown of Success: An aggressive blend, used for overcoming obstacles. Particularly effective in shoving aside those who hinder your climb to success. Used also in silencing slander and stopping gossip. This success blend has a strong protective aspect that helps shield you from the negativity generated by the jealousy and covetousness of others. I've got a job interview in the morning, and it was a tough call choosing between Crown of Success and Come to Me. I decided I'd try this one tonight, and see what I thought of the scent for wearing tomorrow. There's a definite non-perfume scent to Crown of Success. It's got that smooth-but-chalky characteristic in Tarot: the World, and it's got an herbal resonance similar to Horn of Plenty from the Voodoo Blends. This is very definitely made to get results, not to have the wearer tell you how good you smell. That said, it's very empowering - and simultaneously soothing. I can see how it would encourage you to conquer any situation, and it does feel like there's a protective circle around me. I'm even more comfortable in my skin and could let a hateful comment just slide off me (as proof, my mother called tonight after I put this on; we talked for an hour and four minutes, and her usual mostly-unintentional zings didn't rile me at all - we had a very good, very productive conversation because of it). If you're wearing this, go easy. It's like Water of Notre Dame - a little goes a very long way. I dabbed Crown of Success on my wrists, in my cleavage, under my ears, and on the back of my neck, and I have no doubt I'll have to suds up a second time in tomorrow morning's shower to remove all traces. Reading back over the review, I said," ... made to get results, not to have the wearer tell you how good you smell." Don't let that discourage you - this may be an acquired taste, like Horn of Plenty or Water of Notre Dame, but it's beautiful in its own right. If you're open to the "different" scent of the Voodoo and Tarot series, you'll probably enjoy this one.

My heritage is Czech, so I know a good kolache when I see one ... and poppy seed is one of my favorites. Black poppy has just the faintest hint of the dried seeds - it's a dry, not sweet, scent unto itself. This is definitely a floral, but it's a soft, wistful, and dry floral, not a sweet or ... go ahead and laugh at me ... flowery one. Dry spice - I think this could well be one of the notes in Xiuhtecuhtli.

Brings immense success in love and money. While there's no "official" description for Mantle of Venus, I understand it's intended to bring immense success in money and love. Since I don't like clove in any quantity, it was hard to put Mantle of Venus on myself and on a candle at first. Once I managed to get past the intensity of the clove, though, I'm pretty sure I smelled cinnamon, orange peel, and maybe even a little nutmeg. As this dried down a little, I was pleasantly reminded of the oranges we covered with cloves and other spices pushed into the peel at Christmas when I was a kid, then hung up as pomanders. The effectiveness of this blend has overcome my aversion to cloves, at least enough to use this. The first time I used it, I annointed a pink candle and my pulse points, then concentrated on my goals in love and money. I didn't ask for anything specific; in fact, I focused on being open to opportunities, whether new or in progress, and to have the strength to make the most of those opportunities, especially the difficult ones that might not seem rewarding up front. And ... later that night, my recently-rediscovered and never forgotten college sweetheart and I decided we couldn't make our long-distance relationship work. Not exactly what I had in mind, but I was oddly relieved - and a little voice popped into my head with, "Okay, be open. Apparently this situation had to change for love and money to come to you, so use some of that strength you asked for to sit back and see what happens." I decided to clean out my closet to occupy myself, rather than fret, and found the piggy bank I put change into for six months, then lost during my move - it had over $100 in it. Today is two weeks later. My current job was winding down to less than 20 hours a week, not including the two hours of drive time each day and mileage costs. My boss, a beloved family friend, decided to close her office down completely and suddenly rather than gradually retire - about ten minutes before I called to tell her I'd accepted a new job and would need to start with less than a week's notice. The new job pays $75 more than the maximum of the actual pay range, and the family friend/current boss I was so worried about putting in a bind is delighted at the prospect of closing the office immediately. To make a long story short on the love front, the boyfriend's not only decided to make the relationship work, he's proposed. As a single parent, I probably appreciate most what Mantle of Venus has done for my relationship with my daughter. It's very obvious in my household that we love each other, but as she gets closer to school age, we're losing some of that unabashed intimacy and affection that small children share with their parents. Every time I use this blend, we make some fabulous new memory together, and can't get enough of hugging each other and doing things together as equals. Those moments change my life. Obviously, Mantle of Venus has been incredibly effective for me. I can't thank Beth enough for her gift of this blend. [added description ~qs]

Sweetly herbal, this lacks the dustiness of the dried chamomile I have stashed away in my shelf of teas, which means it's totally true to the scent of chamomile. This version is much sweeter, and much more pleasant, than other chamomile oils I've smelled; I'm assuming it has something to do with the roman variety of the plant. I really do like this - it dries down so soft and sweet that I'm strongly considering a bottle for everyday wear. It's light and yet substantial - never overpowering - and really glows sweetly gold-green.

Beth had two single notes in lavender, although one was never on the site; I was lucky enough to get an imp of both the French and Bulgarian lavenders long ago. The French Lavender is what I think of as "standard" lavender; it's crisp and the more astringent of the two. The Bulgarian Lavender, though, is an entirely different story. Beth's single notes are always amazing; they're so much better and more true than anything else on the market. The Bulgarian Lavender is no exception to that rule, and it's so sweet and lush that there's almost none of the "pungency factor" to it that turns so many people off when it comes to lavender. My mother loves lavender almost as much as I do, and I slathered some of each lavender on her wrists. She sniffed the French Lavender, commenting on how nice and true it was. She got to the Bulgarian Lavender, though, and her mouth fell open. "It's so sweet - this is perfect! There's hardly any of that sharp, bitter smell to it! What did she do to this lavender to make it so good?!?!!" I wish I'd stocked up on this when the Single Notes were still available. I'd use it bath goodies, lotions, linen spray, room spray, candles, and everything I could think of. I go through quite a bit of lavender essential oil each spring, because the pungency and herbal end-result seem perfect for spring cleaning and the beginning of a new time of year, but none of the essential oils I've come across over the years compare to Beth's Bulgarian Lavender.

From the Tarot collection; no scent description provided at BPAL website. Sharp and sweet at the same time, when first out of the bottle - pine and a sharp, astringent note quickly move forward. The bright, astringent note, which I can't identify, is pleasing and yet causes unease at the same time. Almost metallic as it dries down. This stays crisp and, for lack of a better term - bright. In fact, this scent resonates and really shines out from its spot on my arm, and if I close my eyes, get close, and just breathe in and out for a minute, I'm practically floating here in my chair. Disconnected and otherworldly in itself, but a connector by its nature.