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Showing results for tags 'Yule 2013'.
Found 85 results
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Ghastly secrets and terror-numb revelations: white mint, black amber, tallow, antediluvian woods, and sickly resins. (For reference, I tested this as a linen spray) This is mostly mint. Definitely the famous BPAL "white mint" note, with a strong background of very sweet amber. There is just a hint of something earthy, almost a mineral note that I think is from the resins. It reminds me a bit of the long DC'ed Black Opal. On the drydown, the woods give this a slightly masculine edge, and it smells a bit like a very expensive aftershave or cologne. Classy! I wouldn't mind my house smelling like this. No sign of the tallow. The throw is somewhat weak, but it find that common in mint blends. It is however, very long lasting. If you enjoy other sweet BPAL mint blends like Tokyo Stomp, Snowblind, and Lick It, but long for something a little more sophisticated and less candy-like, this will be right up your alley. It is also great for people who miss Lantern Ghost of Oiwa.
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I'm three-quarters gone! Gingerbread fougere, with hints of lilac, lime, and citrus musk. Well, DAMN. This one is a manly cologne, sophisticated with the spicy gingerbread in complete balance with the lime/citrus which give it a sophisticated lightness, but at the base there's a smouldering spicyness. This actually smells like a commercial man's cologne (the name of which escapes me at the moment, but I sort of want to point the finger at Dior's Pour Homme, whichever the superspicy version is). This is the manly, spicy cologne version of gingerbread. AND IT SMELLS EPICALLY DELICIOUS, AND SEXY. It's DROOLWORTHY. In fact, the tagline should read "ALL GONE", because... well, you really just want to swallow this gingerbread man whole. (and yes, all the innuendo there is FOR A REASON LADIES). [here's to fingers crossed that this smells as good on mr. zee_zee as it does on me]
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Oh, I'm half gone! Gingerbread with vetiver, pine pitch, troll musk, black basil, clove smoke, and scorched cumin. Not the best first review because on me this disappeared into nothingness almost immediately. I was expecting something acrid and herbal and couldn't see how the gingerbread would come through - but strangely although it was all Troll when wet, once it dried I get a faint herbal gingerbread and that is all. I'm puzzled.
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Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of that cold flame, out of the Tartarean leagues through which that oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid winged things that no sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor vampire bats, nor decomposed human beings; but something I cannot and must not recall. They flopped limply along, half with their webbed feet and half with their membraneous wings; and as they reached the throng of celebrants the cowled figures seized and mounted them, and rode off one by one along the reaches of that unlighted river, into pits and galleries of panic where poison springs feed frightful and undiscoverable cataracts. Membranous green mandarin with dread-choked black sandalwood, opoponax, pine tar, mimosa, mugwort, and acrid tagetes. Immediately on applying I smell camphor, but that vanishes quickly. I get citrus, but a sort of herbal citrus. The mugwort is strong here, silvery and herbal. It must be what I mistook for camphor. I can't really pick out the sandalwood or tagetes. Yes, it's a little sour, maybe even acrid, but the opoponax and mimosa seem to be doing their part to keep it from being a screeching sour horror. I do like mugwort and here it smells very delicate and silvery. It's not unlike the lab's White Sage SN. My mother tells me this smells to her like nice soap (must be the sandalwood) and cedar.
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Brian and I made this one for Ted to honor his undying, incessant, relentless love of Abba: silvery snow reflecting myriad glimmers of orange blossom, black currant, pink grapefruit, white mint, sweet plum, and Italian bergamot. ITB: This reminds me of the old-fashioned hard ribbon candy my grandfather used to have out each Christmas. I remember there being swatches of sweet citrus, berry, and peppermint, which is very similar to what this smells like to me in the bottle. Wet: The bergamot comes out warmly on my skin first, followed by the clean white mint, the slightly sugar grapefruit, the plum, and finally the orange blossom. The smells like a combination of fruits being preserved and made into the toppings for a wonderful set of pastries. Dry: After a 12 hour day, nothing remains on my wrist, which warrants a re-application assessment after a few dry-down hours. After a number of reapplications, the scent is warm and softly fruity, like black currants laced with orange blossom, warmed in a tart.
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No one spoke to me, but I could hear the creaking of signs in the wind outside, and the whir of the wheel as the bonneted old woman continued her silent spinning, spinning. I thought the room and the books and the people very morbid and disquieting, but because an old tradition of my fathers had summoned me to strange feastings, I resolved to expect queer things. So I tried to read, and soon became tremblingly absorbed by something I found in that accursed Necronomicon; a thought and a legend too hideous for sanity or consciousness. But I disliked it when I fancied I heard the closing of one of the windows that the settle faced, as if it had been stealthily opened. It had seemed to follow a whirring that was not of the old woman's spinning-wheel. This was not much, though, for the old woman was spinning very hard, and the aged clock had been striking. After that I lost the feeling that there were persons on the settle, and was reading intently and shudderingly when the old man came back booted and dressed in a loose antique costume, and sat down on that very bench, so that I could not see him. It was certainly nervous waiting, and the blasphemous book in my hands made it doubly so. When eleven struck, however, the old man stood up, glided to a massive carved chest in a corner, and got two hooded cloaks; one of which he donned, and the other of which he draped round the old woman, who was ceasing her monotonous spinning. Then they both started for the outer door; the woman lamely creeping, and the old man, after picking up the very book I had been reading, beckoning me as he drew his hood over that unmoving face or mask. The clock strikes eleven: black rose, oudh, rosewood, and sea-kissed patchouli, and the smoke of a snuffed tallow candle. I've worn this one twice, and am still not quite sure how to describe it. I just know it had no reviews. The sea-kissed note is similar to the one in Sunrise with Seamonsters... but it's backed by almost a hazelnut masculine foodie note. This one is super well blended, and for some reason I thought it had leather in it till I looked at the notes, that must be the oude. The rose isn't too girly, it blends very tightly with the sea note and grounds it to the sweeter earthier part of the blend. The candle aspect actually smells snuffed out tying it more strongly to the rose and salt, but it definitely connects with the Oude too. As it dries it goes from the foodie salt focus to the rose and oude and candle focus. The rose really comes out later on in the blend. This one is very unisex. Not just like either could wear it, but it's both very masculine and very feminine to my nose. If you are a fan of Spellbound or Sunrise with Seamonsters, try this blend.
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Thick brown ale and aged port with cinnamon, black clove, lemon zest, allspice, cardamom, ginger, and brown sugar. So I didn't buy a bottle of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Pyre last year, but this year I can't get enough of my decant and have been on a wild hunt. When Wassail appeared I bought a blind bottle immediately, hoping it would fill that warm, spicy, wintry comfort void. And it does! It definitely does. I definitely smell the ale and port, but it doesn't make my house smell like alcohol or anything. More like if you dumped a bunch of flat but not gross beer down the sink, that kind of lingering smell - but in a good way. I'm making this sound gross but it's really nice! I've been utterly dousing my living room furniture. The spices are very present as well, and it provides just the snuggly feel I was looking for. For those of you who hoard squirts of The Inn, this in no way smells like The Inn, but you might want to try it for that same effect of warm, sweet comfort that is foody and yet not foody. I might need a backup of this one.
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On December 5th, the eve of St. Nicholas day, a veritable storm of Krampi swarm the streets of Bavaria. Wielding sticks and chains, they inspire the hearts of naughty children with terror. Smoke, fur, and rusty chains with apple schnapps, malted chocolate bonbons, and Bavarian mints. Krampuslaufen smells wonderfully of Christmas to me. My grandmother used to bake a truly massive amount of cookies when I was younger. Traditional Polish ones, American ones, Italian ones the recipes of which she got from her sister's Italian mother in law, even Baklava from a recipe she got from an old Greek neighbor. She would give us all of these pack haphazardly in a huge disposable roasting pan. This smells a lot like pulling the foil off of that - not really cookie but all the bits and bobs that went into them. It should be discordant but some how it's not. It doesn't really smell of apple, or smoke, or chains. It smells nothing like what I expected it to. There seems to actually be something like red musk (?) underneath it all tying it together. I don't usually like red musk, but this is reminding me a little of the red musk in Midnight Kiss which I really love. Maybe it's just the way the apple schnapps note is coming across, but I don't smell apple. All in all it's really well blended and kind of hard for my nose to parse the notes, but I like it and I like smelling like it.
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A bath oil to help you relax after slaying dragons, polymorphing prickish princes, carrying water in irritating sieves, breaking all manner of curses, and grooming talking animals: Roman chamomile, bourbon geranium, Indian frankincense, French lavender, and vanilla orchid. First review, wow! Just got my Inquisition set and took a bath with this today! I wasn't totally sure about the notes to start off with, but the other Nice bath oil really isn't my thing, and I thought the idea of a lavender bath oil sounded nice--I don't have any others with lavender in them. In the bottle, I still wasn't sure; it smelled very heavy and a bit much, to my nose, a bit muddled, which I think was the frankincense and chamomile with the lavender, with the sweetness of the orchid, but I had faith that in the bath it would still turn out nicely. And it certainly did! It's actually even nicer than I was expecting. In the bath it turns in a deliciously rich lavender, the other notes providing depth and support for the very present lavender overlaying them. It's the same lavender I smell in Somnus, to my nose, sweet and almost soft, though of course the other notes give it quite the different feeling. It's not herbal, per se, and not incensey, per se, but it is a rich, deep, complicated lavender with some sweetness and some spice. I really like it! I'm going to enjoy taking more baths with this in the future. I do think I used a little too much oil in the bath, and it didn't entirely mix in, but that's my fault--I thought I might have used too much to start. It made my bathroom smell wonderfully of spicy, rich, sweet lavender after, too! And now my skin feels great, very soft and smooth, and I really need that, since I'm home for the holidays and it's much, much drier here. Perfect timing!
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Days of Winter Sunshine "Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins." - Gustave Flaubert Rain falling through the heart: carrot seed, frankincense, white jasmine, sea buckthorn berry, and iris. This, this is goooood. It's a light jasmine with a hint of fresh green and a touch of the sea. Dry down is mostly frankincense and jasmine, I looooves it!
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A lighthearted winter scent: chilly vanilla rose snowballs! Dainty, soft, and certainly unfit for flinging! This isn't going to be a brilliant review so I hate that I'm the first one to post, but eh, what can you do? As a caveat to this review, please note that I use this in the bath (not afterward as a moisturizer like some others), but I do not pour the oil into the water. Rather, while the tub is filling I grease my body up well and good, and then when the tub is full I submerge and relax. I love Pink Snowballs as a perfume oil as it is very much Snow White + pink roses on my skin. But then, I'm also one who doesn't get much of the wintery-type notes from Snow White and instead I get something foody (a little creamy and almost almond-y). I expected similar performance from the BO but WOW at first sniff this is really strong mint! Not a bad thing altogether, but it surprised me. Luckily, the mint burns away rather quickly (I can smell it strongly during application, but not much afterward) and what remains is the scent I know and love. If anything, the pink rose is slightly more noticable in the BO as compared to the perfume, and that's just fine with me! Like all TP BOs, this moisturizes beautifully without being sticky, slimy, or greasy. The lasting power and throw for Pink Snowballs is average: Not super-strong, but this is a scent that plays well close to the skin, so this too works well for me.
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To Juan at the Winter Solstice There is one story and one story only That will prove worth your telling, Whether are learned bard or gifted child; To it all lines or lesser gauds belong That startle with their shining Such common stories as they stray into. Is it of trees you tell, their months and virtues, Or strange beasts that beset you, Of birds that croak at you the Triple will? Or of the Zodiac and how slow it turns Below the Boreal Crown, Prison of all true kings that ever reigned? Water to water, ark again to ark, From woman back to woman: So each new victim treads unfalteringly The never altered circuit of his fate, Bringing twelve peers as witness Both to his starry rise and starry fall. Or is it of the Virgins silver beauty, All fish below the thighs? She in her left hand bears a leafy quince; When, with her right she crooks a finger smiling, How may the King hold back? Royally then he barters life for love. Or of the undying snake from chaos hatched, Whose coils contain the ocean, Into whose chops with naked sword he springs, Then in black water, tangled by the reeds, Battles three days and nights, To be spewed up beside her scalloped shore? Much snow is falling, winds roar hollowly, The owl hoots from the elder, Fear in your heart cries to the loving-cup: Sorrow to sorrow as the sparks fly upward. The log groans and confesses There is one story and one story only. Dwell on her graciousness, dwell on her smiling, Do not forget what flowers The great boar trampled down in ivy time. Her brow was creamy as the crested wave, Her sea-blue eyes were wild But nothing promised that is not performed. - Robert Graves A prayer to the White Goddess: Pale rose, sweet clover, and bergamot for the Maiden. Hazelnut, honey, and myrtle and for the Mother. Black cypress, myrrh, and white sandalwood for the Crone. Wow, first review on the thread, and my first review evar. Better not muss it up... Bottle- Sweet and flowery with a bit of greenery. And then oh, hello roses. Wet on skin- Roses and the honey coming out a bit more strong, followed by the hazlenut. Dry on skin- Sweet and flowery again, with hazlenut and some myrrh starting to come out. Gives it an incensey tinge. Me likey :-)
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The man who had brought me now squirmed to a point directly beside the hideous flame, and made stiff ceremonial motions to the semicircle he faced. At certain stages of the ritual they did grovelling obeisance, especially when he held above his head that abhorrent Necronomicon he had taken with him; and I shared all the obeisances because I had been summoned to this festival by the writings of my forefathers. Then the old man made a signal to the half-seen flute-player in the darkness, which player thereupon changed its feeble drone to a scarce louder drone in another key; precipitating as it did so a horror unthinkable and unexpected. At this horror I sank nearly to the lichened earth, transfixed with a dread not of this nor any world, but only of the mad spaces between the stars. The mad spaces between the stars: oakmoss, myrrh, vetiver, rectified cade, ravinsara, wild verbena, and neroli. In the bottle: Vetiver and verbena with an undertone of the juniper cade. Very interesting. Wet: Mostly lemony verbena, actually very pleasant without being pledge. I get a hint of the neroli and the vetiver stays low in the background. This is a very dark oil in physical color! Dry: Much the same as wet, but maybe with a hint of the oakmoss. Really a very interesting scent, glad to have a bottle.
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Fainting and gasping, I looked at that unhallowed Erebus of titan toadstools, leprous fire, and slimy water, and saw the cloaked throngs forming a semicircle around the blazing pillar. It was the Yule-rite, older than man and fated to survive him; the primal rite of the solstice and of spring's promise beyond the snows; the rite of fire and evergreen, light and music. And in the Stygian grotto I saw them do the rite, and adore the sick pillar of flame, and throw into the water handfuls gouged out of the viscous vegetation which glittered green in the chlorotic glare. I saw this, and I saw something amorphously squatted far away from the light, piping noisomely on a flute; and as the thing piped I thought I heard noxious muffled flutterings in the foetid darkness where I could not see. But what frightened me most was that flaming column; spouting volcanically from depths profound and inconceivable, casting no shadows as healthy flame should, and coating the nitrous stone above with a nasty, venomous verdigris. For in all that seething combustion no warmth lay, but only the clamminess of death and corruption. Viscous vegetation, slimy water, suffocating incense: death cap and false morel with green frankincense, black copal, Spanish moss, celery seed, and lime rind over stagnant black liquid and decaying kelp. In the Bottle: This smells like putrid, decaying plant matter, like damp, rotting woods and leaves and mushrooms and all the things of the forest. I am not sure I am brave enough to skin test this. D: Okay it took me all day to work up to it, but here you go. Wet on skin: Oh God, gross, get it off!! Very green and rot-y smelling with a sickening sweet undertone. D: D: D: Dry: Sharp, putrid narcissus, like rotting narcissus flowers in the woods where some unholy ritual has been done. Unless the Elder Gods tell me to keep this scent, it will be finding a new home.
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A Winter Dawn Above the marge of night a star still shines, And on the frosty hills the somber pines Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth low Over the glimmering wastes of virgin snow. Through the pale arch of orient the morn Comes in a milk-white splendor newly-born, A sword of crimson cuts in twain the gray Banners of shadow hosts, and lo, the day! - Lucy Maud Montgomery The soft splendor of dawn in winter: pearlescent pink grapefruit, neroli, helichrysum, freesia, white mandarin, and rockrose rising behind a dapple of snowflakes. In the bottle: Soft snow, almost like a SN of the lab's snow note. Wet: Soft, floral snow, maybe a tinge of grapefruit. This is really pleasant and one of my favorite snow scents from the lab so far. Dry: The florals come out much more here, very pleasant, very sweet, but the snow note is still predominant. I like this one a lot!
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Pointing to a chair, table, and pile of books, the old man now left the room; and when I sat down to read I saw that the books were hoary and mouldy, and that they included old Morryster's wild Marvells of Science, the terrible Saducismus Triumphatus of Joseph Glanvill, published in 1681, the shocking Daemonolatreia of Remigius, printed in 1595 at Lyons, and worst of all, the unmentionable Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, in Olaus Wormius' forbidden Latin translation; a book which I had never seen, but of which I had heard monstrous things whispered. Yellowed fragments of vellum and parchment scrawled with unnamable horrors invoking ghastly abominations: decaying papers and moldering leather with sickly-sweet tonka, inky musk, black sandalwood, black fig, sugandh kokila, and pimento leaf. In the bottle: Uhhh. Sushi. Not fishy but cucumber rolls, with a hint of wasabi. That is VERY interesting. I really smell cucumber. Wet: dusty cucumber, paper and leather, with a touch of sandalwood. Much better on, and I think aging will erase that cucumber smell, but boy it made me want sushi. Dry: Musk and mouldering papers with a bit of sandalwood and leather. Definitely worth keeping to age, I would love to see how this develops.
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He beckoned me into a low, candle-lit room with massive exposed rafters and dark, stiff, sparse furniture of the seventeenth century. The past was vivid there, for not an attribute was missing. There was a cavernous fireplace and a spinning-wheel at which a bent old woman in loose wrapper and deep poke-bonnet sat back toward me, silently spinning despite the festive season. An indefinite dampness seemed upon the place, and I marvelled that no fire should be blazing. The high-backed settle faced the row of curtained windows at the left, and seemed to be occupied, though I was not sure. I did not like everything about what I saw, and felt again the fear I had had. This fear grew stronger from what had before lessened it, for the more I looked at the old man's bland face the more its very blandness terrified me. The eyes never moved, and the skin was too like wax. Finally I was sure it was not a face at all, but a fiendishly cunning mask. But the flabby hands, curiously gloved, wrote genially on the tablet and told me I must wait a while before I could be led to the place of festival. Candle wax and waxen "skin," rotting leather and reeking damp wood, and the ashes of a yawning, cold fireplace. In the bottle: What an odd smell... it's almost like sweetened condensed milk? Wet: Similar, but more stale. I think what I smell may be the candle wax, the staleness is the ashes from the fireplace. It's the same sort of 'stale' I smelled in Death-Fires Dancing Over the Tombs - I think it might be the Lab's stone note? Dry: Rather pleasant. The candle wax is definitely predominant. I don't really get much of anything else. It's a warm, sweet, waxy pleasantness.
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Then I saw the lurid shimmering of pale light, and heard the insidious lapping of sunless waters. Again I shivered, for I did not like the things that the night had brought, and wished bitterly that no forefather had summoned me to this primal rite. As the steps and the passage grew broader, I heard another sound, the thin, whining mockery of a feeble flute; and suddenly there spread out before me the boundless vista of an inner world-a vast fungous shore litten by a belching column of sick greenish flame and washed by a wide oily river that flowed from abysses frightful and unsuspected to join the blackest gulfs of immemorial ocean. Salted citron, black coconut, wormwood, and oily labdanum oozing through fungal mosses and sick, greenish subterranean flora. In the bottle: My first impression is one of salt, and then a bit of the citron and coconut. Wet: Aquatic and salty with just a touch of fungus. Dry: Salty aquatic fungus, actually very pleasant. I wish that citron stuck around more, perhaps aging will help it along.
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Presently the old man drew back his hood and pointed to the family resemblance in his face, but I only shuddered, because I was sure that the face was merely a devilish waxen mask. The flopping animals were now scratching restlessly at the lichens, and I saw that the old man was nearly as restless himself. When one of the things began to waddle and edge away, he turned quickly to stop it; so that the suddenness of his motion dislodged the waxen mask from what should have been his head. And then, because that nightmare's position barred me from the stone staircase down which we had come, I flung myself into the oily underground river that bubbled somewhere to the caves of the sea; flung myself into that putrescent juice of earth's inner horrors before the madness of my screams could bring down upon me all the charnel legions these pest-gulfs might conceal. Perfect and absolute mental collapse: black pomegranate and vetiver with rose otto, rue, red patchouli, petitgrain, myrrh, and cacao absolute. In the bottle: VETIVER! And cocoa. It reminds me of Hershey's easter eggs, oddly. The kind that have the candy shell. Wet: Vetiver and cocoa still. I never thought the combination of those would go together but it's pretty interesting and works well. I wouldn't call this foodie either. Dry: Vetiver. This might as well be SN vetiver on me, I don't get much else at all. Still pretty okay though!
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There was an open space around the church; partly a churchyard with spectral shafts, and partly a half-paved square swept nearly bare of snow by the wind, and lined with unwholesomely archaic houses having peaked roofs and overhanging gables. Death-fires danced over the tombs, revealing gruesome vistas, though queerly failing to cast any shadows. Past the churchyard, where there were no houses, I could see over the hill's summit and watch the glimmer of stars on the harbour, though the town was invisible in the dark. Only once in a while a lanthorn bobbed horribly through serpentine alleys on its way to overtake the throng that was now slipping speechlessly into the church. I waited till the crowd had oozed into the black doorway, and till all the stragglers had followed. The old man was pulling at my sleeve, but I was determined to be the last. Then I finally went, the sinister man and the old spinning woman before me. Crossing the threshold into that swarming temple of unknown darkness, I turned once to look at the outside world as the churchyard phosphorescence cast a sickly glow on the hill-top pavement. And as I did so I shuddered. For though the wind had not left much snow, a few patches did remain on the path near the door; and in that fleeting backward look it seemed to my troubled eyes that they bore no mark of passing feet, not even mine. Icicles and stone illuminated by unholy fire. In the bottle: Snow and ice, as portrayed by camphor and mint. Wet: Minty camphor and a bit of something dusty and stale, like crumbling gravestones. Dry: Light, pale mint, with still just that hint of dustiness. I didn't get any fire at all.
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The Garden in Winter Frosty-white and cold it lies Underneath the fretful skies; Snowflakes flutter where the red Banners of the poppies spread, And the drifts are wide and deep Where the lilies fell asleep. But the sunsets o'er it throw Flame-like splendor, lucent glow, And the moonshine makes it gleam Like a wonderland of dream, And the sharp winds all the day Pipe and whistle shrilly gay. Safe beneath the snowdrifts lie Rainbow buds of by-and-by; In the long, sweet days of spring Music of bluebells shall ring, And its faintly golden cup Many a primrose will hold up. Though the winds are keen and chill Roses' hearts are beating still, And the garden tranquilly Dreams of happy hours to be - In the summer days of blue All its dreamings will come true. - Lucy Maud Montgomery Swaths of red poppies, white roses, graceful winter lilies, and sun-bright primroses beaming from beneath a flutter of snowflakes. In the bottle: Lilies and snow! Wet: Lilies and poppies with a dust of snow on them. This is a very visual scent for me and I don't normally have a visual reaction to scent, but I can just see the lightly snow covered primroses and poppies and lilies and roses drooping with the weight of the snow on them. Dry: A light, floral snow. Lovely!
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The Visionary Silent is the house: all are laid asleep: One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep, Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees. Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor; Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door; The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far: I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star. Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame! Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame: But neither sire nor dame nor prying serf shall know, What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow. What I love shall come like visitant of air, Safe in secret power from lurking human snare; What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray, Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay. Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear- Hush! a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air: He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me; Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy. - Emily Brontë What I love shall come like a visitant of air. The wild freedom of the snow-gleaming heath thrusting through the dull safety of the hearth and the doldrums of the bleak, rolling moors. Lush, honeyed red musk twined with heart-thrilling white musk on passion-warmed skin against a backdrop of raw, iced peat, common heather, and hearth wood. In the bottle: This reminds me very strongly of the scent of a good metaphysical shop, the musk is really very lovely and there's a bit of wood. Wet: Heather and musk! What a gorgeous combination! Dry: Still heather and musk with just a touch of iced peat, this is really very lovely. I want a backup!
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Beside the road at its crest a still higher summit rose, bleak and windswept, and I saw that it was a burying-ground where black gravestones stuck ghoulishly through the snow like the decayed fingernails of a gigantic corpse. The printless road was very lonely, and sometimes I thought I heard a distant horrible creaking as of a gibbet in the wind. They had hanged four kinsmen of mine for witchcraft in 1692, but I did not know just where. Despair and desolation in a potter's field: black soil and memories of screams on the pyre. In the bottle: a hint of dirt, a bit of snow. Wet: Dirt and vetiver alternating with that burned meat smell that's in Gore-Shock. Ick. Dry: No longer smells like meat... mostly. It's actually fairly pleasant now. Not sure if I'd want a second bottle, though.
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Death's Second Self That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. - Sonnet 73, William Shakespeare Yellowed leaves, pale frankincense, solemn amber, and ashes. In the bottle: Crumbly autumn leaves. Wet: Crumbly leaves with a hint of sweet amber. VERY pleasant, I like this very much. Dry: Leaves and a touch of amber, with the frankincense peeking through just a bit. This is a keeper!
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Winter Stars I went out at night alone; The young blood flowing beyond the sea Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings— I bore my sorrow heavily. But when I lifted up my head From shadows shaken on the snow, I saw Orion in the east Burn steadily as long ago. From windows in my father’s house, Dreaming my dreams on winter nights, I watched Orion as a girl Above another city’s lights. Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too, The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars, All things are changed, save in the east The faithful beauty of the stars. - Sara Teasdale Dreaming my dreams on winter nights: starry blue musk with mugwort, white mandarin, rockrose, and snow. In the bottle: The blue musk really stands out to me with a little bit of mugwort. Wet: Blue musk (it really DOES seem blue) and mugwort, with just a hint of rockrose and snow. Drydown: The blue musk stays the predominante scent. This is a very interesting scent and I've got nothing like it in my collection. Definitely will keep my bottle to see how it ages.
