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Crystalline is a very good descriptor for the King of Diamonds. He's cool and clean and glitters a bit in my nose.

 

Not a complicated scent, but not a simple one, either. Clarity like this must be hard to acheive in a fragrance, and there's no sweetness in the blend to help that impression along.

 

To me, oakmoss always smells like new dollar bills, and I don't get that out of King of Diamonds at all. He's not a green scent so much as he is citrus combined with the freshness of leaves, and it's a beautiful interplay. There's a subtle earthy quality to this, but only enough to make it grounded and masculine without being heavy in the slightest.

 

King of Diamonds is what a man should smell like in the summer - clean, fresh, and attention-getting without being soapy or weighted down by woods or spices. Refreshing to the wearer and those graced by his presence. I'm looking forward to smelling it on my fella as soon as the weather gets warmer.

Oisin starts out bright green on me, and the musk comes through quickly. It's fabulous, and I am running into the living room as soon as I finish typing to slather it onto Matt. The catch will be leaving the room after I do ... I may not be able to resist him, even if he is deep in the throes of the X-box, while he's wearing this.

 

Whatever those Irish blossoms are, they're blended in so deep I can't discern them individually. In spite of being such a masculine scent, Oisin has a luminous quality that I usually don't find in men's colognes - they always seem dull to my nose, like they're missing out on a resonance that the fruit and florals in women's fragrances provide.

 

This is amazing. I know exactly what Matt's getting for his birthday, and I'll be slathering it on him every chance I get. He always worries that he's put BPAL on too heavily because of the scent intensity of the oils, but he won't have to with this one. Long-lasting, it's not something I'd worry about him wearing into an elevator - it doesn't seem to move more than about 12 inches from my skin, and if it did throw more than that, I don't know if I'd let him out in public wearing it. I'll have to beat other women off of him with a stick when he smells this good, and I have other plans for my time with him when he's wearing Oisin.

Carnations have never been a favorite of mine, probably because of the clove-like scent they put off. I love to look at them, but you won't catch me sticking my nose in one if I can help it.

 

In spite of that, I think that carnation works beautifully the way Beth uses it in blends. It doesn't hurt any that the single note she starts with is such a true, robust, sweetened scent - for me, it's more like carnations before they get too far into bloom and the clove scent, still holding onto that delicate sweetness deep inside.

 

Very true, and with a hint of green; almost like the green cup at the bottom of the flower (I have no idea what that part of a flower is called - where all the petals are held together at the top of the stem) got processed along with the petals and interior workings. Carnation lovers will sigh with delight over this remarkably accurate single note.

I didn't get the suntan oil phase in the single note of Coconut until I'd had it on for a while; this started out like fresh coconut meat being pried out a shell that's just been cracked open. My great-grandmother had a tradition of doing just that every Christmas - she'd been doing it since she was a child - and there's no question for me about the authenticity of the scent.

 

My body chemistry, though, did a number with this one. When it started to dry down, Coconut went into that suntan oil phase others have mentioned and started to get a plastic smell that was just ... off. I grabbed my bottle of Virgin Coconut Cream Oil from African Shea Butter Company, which also smells a little "off" to me, and that scent was very similar. It's not unpleasant, but it's not the standard scent of coconut that I think of, so I was a little disappointed.

 

The bottle of Virgin Coconut Cream Oil tells me, though, that the single note is very authentic in its stages of dry-down. I think our noses have probably become so used to the artificial coconut smells surrounding us that it's easy to expect something other than the real thing, which this very definitely is.

It's pretty obvious what a fan of Beth's single notes I am, and pineapple is no exception. While I don't find this to be a "true" scent, it's lovely nonetheless.

 

Fresh pineapple, even over-ripe fresh pineapple, has a distinct tang to it. The single note of Pineapple I tried doesn't have that at all, and leans more towards the syrup out of a can of pineapple rings. In fact, it most reminds me of a scoop of pineapple sherbert; light, but sweet and very creamy.

 

Definitely edible, and beautiful in the blends Beth's been working it into lately. Not what I'd want as a scent by itself, but only because I'm not a huge fan of food smells.

 

I mentioned in another review that if Beth ever comes up with bath and body products, Blood Orange would be wonderful to start a kids' line with. This single note of Pineapple would be a lovely addition to it, as well, provided you could resist living out the phrase, "You're so cute I could just eat you up!"

My grandparents had a mimosa tree just like the one in the first post. It was huge, and since they lived in the country with not much for us kids to do, we climbed it every chance we got. Threw the pods at each other, picked the little round parts of the frond apart and made it into mush ... all that good stuff.

 

Beth's single note in Mimosa is the scent I remember coming from that tree in the late spring and early summer. I don't remember it having such strength to it; in fact, I have in my head that it was a very faint, gentle scent that had to be searched out. Of course, this is a concentrated state of scent, so that may have something to do with it.

 

Mimosa is sweet and gently flowing. Grandma Jewell's house is along a dusty country road, with lots of rocks and trees that aren't anything like the part of the state I live in - with only a two and a half hour drive, even the dirt is a different color, with mine being a true red clay and hers being a chalky grey-white. Nothing ever seemed quite ... real? ... to me when we there because of those differences, so it's no surprise that I hadn't filed mimosa away as a limpid and liquid scent - that dusty dirt road skewed my perceptions more than I realized. In fact, this single note in Mimosa warms up to something more like my perception of lily of the valley, just a bit more delicate and much dewier.

 

I think this single note could be worn on its own and taken at face value as a perfume. It's not a "little old lady" scent, but it makes me think of the custom scent I got from Bourbon French years ago, minus the powdery notes. Elegant, gentle, and very southern belle.

It's funny that I should pick up the imp of Lemon for a review just as soon as I finished the review for the single note of Lime; there are some distinct similarities in how the scent behaves, so if you've seen this before, well ... you'll have seen this before.

 

The scent itself is pale yellow sitting in a patch of sunlight; it's like you're in the kitchen, hand-squeezing a lemon, and you look over from rinsing the juicer to see the light hitting your clear glass bowl full of lemon juice.

 

Not only does it smell like lemon juice looks, it smells like lemon juice smells! This isn't a slap-in-the-face bold lemon, it's an opaque, lightly zestful lemon, and so true it's amazing. A little more than itself, sort of like Beth's single note in Honeysuckle, because of the concentration of the scent.

 

Don't worry about smelling like a cleaning product or a roadside bathroom; this single note of Lemon won't ever come across like that. Someone would be more likely to ask if you'd been cooking and scrubbed your hands with a lemon, because you smell so good and true that way.

 

Better lasting power than the single note in Lime - by quite a bit, actually. Not as much throw, though.

 

In all fairness, this single note does exactly what citrus oils do - and you can see why it would cause exasperation for a perfumer. Great scent, fast morph, and fast dissipation ... a true citrus scent that lasts is impossible to find. Just because I wouldn't purchase this single note doesn't mean I don't love it.

When I put on the single note in Lime, I immediately thought of Life Savers - then I read Andra's review, and I think she's exactly right!

 

With a little wear (about 45 seconds) this settles into fresh-squeezed lime juice that's headed into a mixed drink. Clear, sweet but not sugary, and with just enough oil from the zest to cause a zing, it's perfect and certainly not bitter. More like the bottle of Key Lime juice I have in the fridge than the plain stuff.

 

Final dry-down is more candy-like than I expected because of the first two impressions. It ends up being the pale lime hard candy from a bag, not the "POW!!" of the lime Lifesaver, and combining that with the notoriously fast fade of citrus oils makes this one hard to justify as a purchase.

 

In all fairness, this single note does exactly what citrus oils do - and you can see why it would cause exasperation for a perfumer. Great scent, fast morph, and fast dissipation ... a true citrus scent that lasts is impossible to find. Just because I wouldn't purchase this single note doesn't mean I don't love it.

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.

Ginger and I only get along in the most minimal of quantities, so when I opened Siren and took a whiff, I was reluctant even to try it; it's heavy on the ginger.

 

I hate saying that I didn't like one of Beth's scents, and I'll tell you that it's simply the overwhelming ginger in this. The apricot peeks through and is delightful, really sweetening things up, and the jasmine helps out, too - it adds a very creamy tone to the blend.

 

The ginger never goes away or fades enough for me, though, and my stomach turns every time I sniff my wrist (thus the rather abrupt review) If you like ginger, I would tell you to disregard all of this review except the italicized lines above, because if I enjoyed ginger in the slightest, this would be a fabulous, distinctive scent.

I got the lemon zest note others have mentioned, but only for the first thirty seconds or so. Maybe a drop of juniper to this, but then it's lovely crisp pine and a pale wildflower all the way.

 

I put Val San Retour on my wrist to write the review, and within three minutes I actually couldn't find it to finish the description. Citrus oils fade very quickly, and there must not be a lot of pine in this in order to avoid overpowering them, but since I tried this three different times and the same thing happened, I don't know that Val San Retour is a scent I'd purchase.

 

Even though it's as fresh as the great outdoors, Val San Retour doesn't stand up against the beautiful greenery and lasting power of the Yule LEs. I think I'll stick with Mistletoe or Skadi, or Dracul with its fir and balsam, instead.

My imp of Mantis was also very green initially - that flowing green that's in the Voodoo Blends. I don't have a single note of it left to check, but I think it's spanish moss, or a bit of High John. This isn't a crisp green like bay or basil, but a very liquid, bent stem sort of green.

 

It doesn't take long for the amber to shine, and in Mantis, it really sweetens and warms the scent. The neroli does its part, too, and gives this a bit of citrus floral.

 

When all is said and done, Mantis is a bit soapy, but more in the clean, sweet tone of a Prairieland Herbs luxury bar than a bar of white soap. The end result isn't a green one, but it is one that makes me think of a wonderful flower and herb bed in full bloom.

 

My to-purchase list is entirely too long as it is, and since this is something I'd like to have on hand but wouldn't wear all the time, it will go on my "eventually" list.

One of the reason's Beth makes such wonderful scents is because her single notes are absolutely beautiful and true. Starting with these oils enhances Beth's amazing talent to something even bigger and better, and the single note in Honeysuckle is no exception.

 

This particular single note is almost over the top in it's accuracy and beauty. Honeysuckle is a strong fragrance coming out of the flowers, and here it's brought to its essential beauty and magnified with concentration. I don't mean that it isn't perfect - it is! - but that bringing it down to this pure state makes it even larger than life. It's not cloying or too much, but it's absolutely magnificent because it's so perfect and untouched that nothing else gets in the way of what it is.

 

If you're a fan of honeysuckle, try to get your hands on an imp of this. Not only will it last you forever, you'll revel in it.

Bergamot has such a clean, citrus, tea smell - I love this one. Yes, it's the scent that wafts out of your cup of Earl Grey tea, but Beth's is pure and light, without the heavy black tea note to hold it down.

 

Lustrous, sparkling, and very lemony without actually smelling like a lemon, it's like almost all of Beth's single notes - the real thing!

The woods and white pepper are what stand out for me when I first apply Grandmother of Ghosts. Very crisply wooden, in fact.

 

Oh, but the lily and peony come out before long. The woods fade back, but only a little, and the laurel gives a crisp green note to it all. Mandarin orange sweetens and lightens this a great deal, and with the lily and peony, Grandmother of Ghosts takes on a decidely feminine cast it didn't have in the beginning.

 

The sharpness of the pepper, already lessened because it's not black pepper, fades away quickly, leaving behind a discernable warmth. It takes some of the dryness out of the woods, as well, and lets the flowers soften the whole picture. I'm not sure how much the white musk has to do with the softening and the warmth that's emerging, but it's a note I'm becoming more fond of with every blend Beth uses it in; it has a flushed skin quality that's very becoming.

 

My decision to buy a bottle is still pending, although only because I want to be sure that Grandmother of Ghosts continues to warm up and soften the wood notes each time I wear it. I'll use all of the imp, certainly, and if I keep getting the depth of glowing skin and strength of not-so-dry wood, it will go on my purchase list.

Fallen is a round, warm floral with hints of violet's powdery tone when I first put it on. It's nice, but it doesn't really move me.

 

Giving it a few minutes, though, the amber makes its move and this goes right to glorious. The musk in this has an effervescent quality that makes me think of Beth's single note in Siberian musk; I don't know if that's the same thing as the golden musk in her description, but the musk definitely works in this scent. It has a clarity that compliments the amber beautifully.

 

A few minutes more and the florals come forward. The amber and musk haven't really backed off so much as they've wrapped themselves around the base of the flowers and seem to be holding them up; they're not reduced by this change of prominent notes. The impression it leaves is warm and seductive, like a startlingly beautiful woman wrapped in a red silk paisley throw. Why this seems such a feminine scent to me, I don't know - it's not that it isn't gender neutral so much as it has a glow and warmth to it that seems much rarer in men.

 

Toward the end, a light sandalwood and the barest hint of vetiver come to the surface. They're not obvious as distinct notes, but the depth of the scent changes and darkens a bit, and you really have to think about what's adding this extra layer of identify what notes made the change. Without Beth's description, I might have pegged the sandalwood, but not the vetiver; they're very subtle.

 

I don't get a feeling of desolation from this scent, but I suppose that someone trapped in absolute beauty might feel alone and unconnected with others. Fallen won't create that void in your life, though, as it's an up-close, "nuzzle me," sinvitation sort of fragrance.

First on, Highwayman hits me with a wave of vetiver. Since vetiver is a scent I prefer in small quantities, I'm a little anxious for the drydown and what other notes may come through.

The other notes do come through, and start to show themselves fairly quickly. There's a gorgeous floral decadence of jasmine and rose twined together, and the cinnamon is quick to warm up and meld into them. The leather is there, too - while it's just a hint, it's that fabulous pure leather note at work in DeSade - like rubbing your hands over a leather saddle and being able to smell the scent, mixed with everything else, on your fingers later in the day.

I had to try Highwayman twice to find the gardenia. Think of a gorgeous man standing next to a tangle of flowering bushes, and that's where the florals come in - they're not really even supporting cast; it's like smelling two distinct presences at one time but not being able to disassociate them.

Highwayman did end up seeming very masculine to my nose, because the leather became more definite as time went by, and the cinnamon gives it a different sort of earthy quality than the vetiver led me to believe it would have. If I stick my nose up close to the spot of this blend on my wrist, I don't care for it; the vetiver becomes the focal point and is more than I prefer. If I sniff a couple of inches away, though, it's wonderful - very clear, and surprisingly light.

I'll be slathering the imp on the man in my life, and then moving away from him for about three minutes to avoid the vetiver wave. At that point, if it smells as good on him as it does on me after drying down and warming up, I'll be investing in a bottle.[/font]

First on, Sophia is a gentle mix of lavender and delphinium. Sweet, but not in an artificial candy way, and soft, it still has plenty of throw.

 

I wondered what the difference in jasmine and star jasmine was, but couldn't find anything. Something is different, though, because this is a much softer, kinder jasmine than the heady white floral that jasmine usually is to my nose.

 

After a few minutes, the spices start to come to the front. The lavender doesn't disappear, but it fades into the background where it becomes a part of the supporting cast. An interesting twist for lavender, which is usually more vibrant than most other notes in a scent, and thus the most obvious. The spices and musk combine beautifully to give Sophia a depth it didn't have in the first few minutes; the lavender and delphinium were very much "top" notes, and these move it to middle ground.

 

The musk and spice note, complemented by the florals, stays in the forefront for the considerable wear of this scent; good staying power. Beth calls this a solemn scent, and it is, but not as a matter of sadness. Think of a brilliant woman who looks like a Victoria's Secret model but doesn't know it, immersed in a book and oblivious to the admiring glances coming her way.

 

My first sniff out of the bottle made me think "good girl," but this lovely scent is a surprisingly sensual one; don't let the first couple of minutes fool you. Definitely headed for my purchase list.

Mistletoe is sharply green, but not bitter. Wearing it, I feel clean and fresh, and very wintery.

 

There's a whiteness to this, too. Not laundry detergent whiteness, but something clear and brilliant. Mistletoe isn't a complex scent, and it is a bit piney, but I'd like to think this is what a sprig of mistletoe crushed in my hands would smell like. It's been too long since I've had real mistletoe to say for sure that it really is a single note of it, but my mind's eye (nose?) has no problem making that connection.

 

Long-lasting, and never overpowering, Mistletoe is one of my favorites of all the 2004 Yule LEs.

I wasn't so sure about Delphi out of the bottle - sticky-sweet honey wine was all I got. No matter what, though, I alway try what comes in my orders, and I think I'm glad I did in this case, too.

 

The honey wine keeps flickering back and forth with the laurel and bay leaves, and when those two are on top, I absolutely love Delphi. The incense is more of a wispy, light touch - it's practically floating through and something you look around for in a "What was that scent that I just ... wait, now I can't smell it. Did I imagine that?" sort of way.

 

When the honey wine scent is on top, though, I can't get my nose away fast enough. It's not that it's a bad scent, it's just that it's too sweet for my tastes, and by a long shot. Dry-down hasn't helped me much; I never know if I'm going to get the leaves or the sweetness when I put my nose to Delphi.

 

On me, Delphi does what Seraphim did ... it just doesn't ever settle into anything I can make my mind up about. Both scents have such gorgeous possibilities, but they don't turn into any sort of blend on my skin, so I'm left loving part of the notes, disliking part, and unsure if I'll be delighted or disappointed by purchasing a bottle.

 

I'm definitely using up the imp to find out if the laurel, bay leaves, and incense win out in the long run. If they do, I'm getting a huge bottle of Delphi; if it's the honey wine, the imp will be more than enough for me. I'll be interested to see other reviews as they come in, because I think this is probably just a skin chemistry thing.

Eos is indeed about the dawn; think morning sun making diamonds out of dewdrops that quiver on small yellow flowers.

 

Sweetened by the honeysuckle, jasmine isn't overbearing here. I don't remember what a buttercup smells like, exactly, but I think it's the note that helps the honeysuckle simplify this scent while making it so ... well, petal-like. Soft and simple, but more durable in its fragility than we may realize.

 

I'm not a jasmine fan at all. It's one of the many "white florals" that gives me a headache, and it's just not something I typically enjoy. With the honeysuckle and buttercup here, and what might be just a touch of white musk, it's stellar. The jasmine doesn't jump in and take over, which is a rarity on me, so Eos stays serene and lovely throughout its wearing. It also doesn't go soapy.

 

I've had Eos on my wrist for almost two hours, and it hasn't faded much at all. Another nice surprise, since honeysuckle and wildflowers tend to go fast. Good staying power, warm floral serenity in a jar - can't go wrong with a combination like that! In spite of my usual jasmine aversion, this was a 5 ml. purchase the day after my imp arrived.

Marquise de Merteuil is peachy, yes, but it isn't really about the peaches on me. Between the peach note and the haughtily liquid amber, this is jonquil and luxuriant florals softened and emboldened at the same time.

 

If I really, really work at it, I can find the vetivert in this. It's a drop in the bucket, though, and not a major component of what's filling my nose as I type. More like a bit of dirt clinging to flowers that didn't break off at the stem, but instead came up out of the ground - a quiet reminder of where they came from, perhaps, but not what they're about.

 

This Marquise is a luxuriant, regal, warm (although perhaps not genuinely so), and very expensive-smelling creature. She loves beauty and quality, and this scent envelops her in a soft, sensual cloud of both. She's not all peach-fuzz softness and flower petals, and the dry-down of this blend reminds you she has power. It's power she'll use in ways you least expect, because she has the confidence to do whatever needs be. I have the Tarot of Prague, and the image of their Strength (bottom row, second from left) card came immediately to my mind when smelling Marquise de Merteuil.

 

I love FullTiltRedhead's comment about "if you think you can carry off smelling like a Marquise." I don't know if I'm qualified, but I bought a 10 ml. bottle to find out for certain!

At first, coffee sprang to my mind, too. Not black coffee, but coffee with something in it - a strong shot of Tia Maria and rum in it, perhaps. With a little waiting, it becomes a rich dark chocolate note, bitter and full, with a definite splash of the wine note the Lab uses so beautifully in their blends.

 

The sweetness of the rum isn't prominent, but it's an interesting backing to the wine. The two also serve to temper and meld the metallic note that is indeed reminiscent of blood - not so much the scent or the taste, but the impression of both at the same time.

 

The wine note sort of curdles on me after Centzon Totochtin has been on for a few hours, so I think I'm going to pass on a big bottle of this. Don't hold me to that, though, because this is such an intriguing scent that I may not be able to resist. At the very least I'll be using up the imp, because I'm hoping it's just a funky body chemistry moment that changes the wine note - and if it is, that means I'll be able to get the big bottle after all!

I agree with Caitfish - this scent is wonderful! I don't know if I'd call it Beth's niche, because she's so good at so many different things, but Tenochtitlan gets a rave from me.

 

First on, this is crisply green - very much like crushing fresh herbs with your fingertips. In just a moment, there's a clear, juicy sweetness that must be the prickly pear, and it mingles with a beautiful light floral that's just what tulips put off if you stick your nose far enough into one.

 

I know there's amber, hyssop, sage, coriander, and all sorts of other wonderful things in this blend, but they never really stand out as individual notes on my skin. I get a gentle, distinctive, and lovely breath of warm air from field of wildflowers - and it's one I'd like to have brush past me again.

 

Staying power on me wasn't all that great - but Tenochtitlan is worth the reapplication. I'd definitely consider a bottle of this.

After reading these reviews, I had a very different idea of what Blood Countess would be compared to how it turned out on my skin.

 

I was delighted at the idea of berries and plum - maybe I had something more along the lines of Midwinter's Eve in mind - so Blood Countess took me by surprise when it had a spicy, carnation-like note when I put it on. After a few minutes, the berries and gardenia came out, blended with the spice note that I can only guess is the opium.

 

While the blackened plums sweetened this scent after a bit, it's not a sweet scent by any means. It's bold and brazen woman all the way; a real "I'll get what I want when I want" sort of scent. Regal and commanding, but lush and beautiful at the same time, it has a very commanding and almost haughty presence.

 

There's an opulence here that reminds me of Old Venice, although the scents aren't the same. Since Old Venice is a favorite, and this has the same kind of power and grandeur, I'll definitely be purchasing a bottle.