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Showing results for tags 'Yule 2013'.
Found 85 results
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BLACK ICE Lovely, dangerous, slick, and bitterly cold: chilly white sleet-like notes with a hint of vetiver, a breath of smoky asphalt, and winter wind. In the bottle: Vetiver for sure. This scent is unique in the Yule category, in my opinion. It is cold, but by being a cold 'perfumey' scent. It's interesting how I can pick up the 'winter wind' aspect. This scent is hard to pin down, it is light and airy in some way. Wet: There are things in here I could not tell from smelling the bottle. There is something dirty and almost acidic. I suppose this is where the asphalt comes in. It's a little plasticy and man-made at first. But I can already tell it's disappearing upon dry down. Drydown: The Vetiver is calming, and I once again can percieve that chilly, air feeling to it. The airy feeling though has finally become 'cold' somehow. The perfumey is becoming a bit more ethereal and less 'in your face'. I have to be honest, I didn't think I would buy another bottle of this until it was completely dry. I really enjoy it at this point, it's calm, and cool and delicate, yet a vibrant 'perfumey' blend. This would be great on a boy, too. It starts to remind me of being outside on a brutally cold night. This scent is definitely a wrist-sniffing scent.
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The Snow-Shoe Goddess, Giantess, the Norse embodiment of winter. Frost-rimed winter berries, crisp pine needle, and a slush of bright snowy notes. This is one of the most beautiful things that I have ever had the pleasure to smell. Truly, they have encapsulated winter in this one fragrance. I don't know what the snowy notes are, but they are sparking and glittering throughout this icy-white/pale blue fragrance. It actually smells like SNOW. Pine is in the forefront, of course -- an evergreen forest, branches heavy with snow. There are hints of other evergreens that I cannot quite name -- spruce perhaps? The berries may account for the slight hint of warmth I get as an afterthought...bittersweet, frozen berries. Perhaps bayberry? This is absolutely an outdoor winter fragrance -- you can practically see the swirl of snowflakes escape from the bottle when you open it. One of my absolute favorite fragrances ever, and I only just opened it today! Pine/wood scents never change on my skin, but it has been going strong for a couple of hours now and just getting more and more beautiful, like a candle has been burning and it just strengthens as it warms. I hope I can get more when I run out!!
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The perfected winter rose, dew covered and freshly cut. Red Rose. Limited edition. My favorite rose so far. This is the first rose scent I haven't melted off within an hour. (I was amazed the first time I wore it. Eight hours, and no need to reapply!) In the bottle, it smells like a rose from the florist - that cold hothouse smell. On, it warms up slightly, but not too much - it's got a slight bite, which is a nice change from most roses that fade to a powdery softness. I'll be very sad when I finish this one.
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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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A lighthearted winter scent: chilly vanilla rose snowballs! Dainty, soft, and certainly unfit for flinging! Pink Snowballs started out Snow White, with a hint of vanilla, and stayed that way for a while. After about two hours, I smelled it and snow white had wandered away, leaving the vanilla left with a single rose and a hint of her perfume. Rather soft, and pretty.
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Oh dear! I'm a quarter gone! Gingerbread and exotic Indonesian oils sugared with vanilla. Yay! The Yules of 2013 have begun!! I will start with my most anticipated one!! From the bottle: spicy warm gingerbread, yummy!! First applied on skin: I smell like gingerbread and warm cinnamon. A comforting, baked cinnamon, not the scary overly strong cinnamon that my skin can amp badly like Saw Scaled Viper. But no Snake Oil yet... After about 20 minutes: OMG I think I am in love.... Snake Oil is coming through and mixed with gingerbread it is simply AMAZING!!! I need to buy more bottles of this... like right now!! Verdict: When this scent was announced I was so excited! I even had mentioned in the Yule Stalking thread that I was hoping for a 'Snakes in the Gingerbread House' type scent! This scent combines two of my favorites into one and I am in heaven.... I never knew one could smell like a sexy gingerbread house, but it is possible!! If you like Gingerbread, if you Love Snake Oil, all I can say is HORDE THIS!! You'll be wanting more than one bottle, I swear!!
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On the night of the Epiphany, a joyful, broomstick-riding hag clad in a tattered shawl drops into chimneys all over Italy, bestowing gifts to good children, and dropping coal into the stockings of naughty kiddies. La Befana vien di notte Con le scarpe tutte rotte Col vestito alla Romana Viva, Viva La Befana! As the Three Wise Men searched for the house of the Christ child, they found themselves lost. Eventually, they stopped at a small house and knocked on the door. A small, wizened woman opened the door, holding a broom in her hand. The Astrologers asked the woman if she knew the location of the child, but, unfortunately, she did not know who these men were looking for, and could not aid them in their search. It was deep into the night, and the air was chilly, so the kindly woman offered the three men her hospitality. They spent the night in her warm, comfortable home, and shared bread and stories with one another. The Astrologers explained to the woman why they were looking for this blessed infant, and invited her to join them in their search come morning. Though she was touched by their tale, she declined, as she had a great deal of housework to do. At daybreak, the Astrologers awoke. They thanked the woman for her generosity, gathered their things, and prepared to leave. Before they departed, they, again, asked the old woman if she would like to join them on their journey. Again, she declined, and sent them on their way. After they had left, she regretted her decision, and she set off to find the Three Wise Men. After many long and frustrating hours of searching, she still could not find them. Saddened, yet still filled with hope, she stopped to give a gift to every good child she passed. La Befana comes by night With her shoes old and broken She comes dressed in the Roman way Long life to the Befana! Candy charcoal, winter lilies, parma violet, a sprig of cypress, a poof of chimney dust, and holiday sweets. straight sniff from bottle is purely sweet and gooey....absolutely nothing else ... holy moly...once applied the violet is astonishing and the dust and candy charcoal....ZomG... if you are a violet lover of bpal blends this is for you!! words cannot even describe the beauty and depth of this one...it is heartbreakingly beautiful i love it to death
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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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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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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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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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EGG NOG Sweet brandy, dark rum, heavy cream, sugar, and a dash of nutmeg. Oh, Mama. This one is DEAD ON ACCURATE. I am madly obsessed with Egg Nog. For me, the Holidays wouldn't be the same without it. And a good batch of Egg Nog has a scent to it that is equally as appealing as the taste. And BPAL's limited edition masterpiece has that scent... the smell of the perfect batch of Egg nog, served up in an antique crystal and gold trimmed goblet. Brimming over with spice, rum, sugary goodness, and oh, oh, oh... that BRANDY. It really leaps out at me and my happy little nose! That's my 'First Whiff' experience. Now *on* gets even better... After some dry down time, the rum is really prominent. But it's accented by the nutmeg and the brandy. It's so sweet and subtle. Warm. Inviting. Almost... alluring. I can't believe I'm wearing an "Egg Nog" scented oil! It's downright delightful and so far, it's really holding. The spice of this scent gets better and better with my body warmth, too. About 30 minutes later: It's still going fairly strong. Much of the other notes had faded off, but that rum is still there. Sweet, sweet rum. I couldn't resist... I HAD to do a re-app, just so I could sniff the contents of the bottle again. I decanted some straight to an imp, and am applying from that so that I can really slather it on now. I hate Holiday shopping, and so I have decided this is going to be my "Holiday Shopping Blues Pick-Me-Up" scent. It does the trick! -Leslie
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Almond Blossom Even iron can put forth, Even iron. This is the iron age, But let us take heart Seeing iron break and bud, Seeing rusty iron puff with clouds of blossom. The almond-tree, December's bare iron hooks sticking out of earth. The almond-tree, That knows the deadliest poison, like a snake In supreme bitterness. Upon the iron, and upon the steel, Odd flakes as if of snow, odd bits of snow, Odd crumbs of melting snow. But you mistake, it is not from the sky; From out the iron, and from out the steel, Flying not down from heaven, but storming up, Strange storming up from the dense under-earth Along the iron, to the living steel In rose-hot tips, and flakes of rose-pale snow Setting supreme annunciation to the world. Nay, what a heart of delicate super-faith, Iron-breaking, The rusty swords of almond-trees. Trees suffer, like races, down the long ages. They wander and are exiled, they live in exile through long ages Like drawn blades never sheathed, hacked and gone black, The alien trees in alien lands: and yet The heart of blossom, The unquenchable heart of blossom! Look at the many-cicatrised frail vine, none more scarred and frail, Yet see him fling himself abroad in fresh abandon From the small wound-stump. Even the wilful, obstinate, gummy fig-tree Can be kept down, but he'll burst like a polyp into prolixity. And the almond-tree, in exile, in the iron age! This is the ancient southern earth whence the vases were baked, amphoras, craters, cantharus, oenochoe, and open-hearted cylix, Bristling now with the iron of almond-trees Iron, but unforgotten, Iron, dawn-hearted, Ever-beating dawn-heart, enveloped in iron against the exile, against the ages. See it come forth in blossom From the snow-remembering heart In long-nighted January, In the long dark nights of the evening star, and Sirius, and the Etna snow-wind through the long night. Sweating his drops of blood through the long-nighted Gethsemane Into blossom, into pride, into honey-triumph, into most exquisite splendour. Oh, give me the tree of life in blossom And the Cross sprouting its superb and fearless flowers! Something must be reassuring to the almond, in the evening star, and the snow-wind, and the long, long, nights, Some memory of far, sun-gentler lands, So that the faith in his heart smiles again And his blood ripples with that untenable delight of once-more-vindicated faith, And the Gethsemane blood at the iron pores unfolds, unfolds, Pearls itself into tenderness of bud And in a great and sacred forthcoming steps forth, steps out in one stride A naked tree of blossom, like a bridegroom bathing in dew, divested of cover, Frail-naked, utterly uncovered To the green night-baying of the dog-star, Etna's snow-edged wind And January's loud-seeming sun. Think of it, from the iron fastness Suddenly to dare to come out naked, in perfection of blossom, beyond the sword-rust. Think, to stand there in full-unfolded nudity, smiling, With all the snow-wind, and the sun-glare, and the dog-star baying epithalamion. Oh, honey-bodied beautiful one, Come forth from iron, Red your heart is. Fragile-tender, fragile-tender life-body, More fearless than iron all the time, And so much prouder, so disdainful of reluctances. In the distance like hoar-frost, like silvery ghosts communing on a green hill, Hoar-frost-like and mysterious. In the garden raying out With a body like spray, dawn-tender, and looking about With such insuperable, subtly-smiling assurance, Sword-blade-born. Unpromised, No bounds being set. Flaked out and come unpromised, The tree being life-divine, Fearing nothing, life-blissful at the core Within iron and earth. Knots of pink, fish-silvery In heaven, in blue, blue heaven, Soundless, bliss-full, wide-rayed, honey-bodied, Red at the core, Red at the core, Knotted in heaven upon the fine light. Open, Open, Five times wide open, Six times wide open, And given, and perfect; And red at the core with the last sore-heartedness, Sore-hearted-looking. - DH Lawrence Something must be reassuring to the almond, in the evening star, and the snow-wind, and the long, long, nights: almond blossom, hoar-frost, and snow-wind. When I first read the description for this scent I thought it would be full on almond, as in the nut, not the blossom! So when I first caught the scent when I opened the bottle I was taken aback! It had a very light flower scent, with no hint of the nutty goodness I was expecting. However the floral scent from the almond blossom was very light and pleasant so I applied a dab to my skin. The floral amped up immediately and I became a little nervous, floral and I do not get along much. But once my skin had a chance to work with the oils it blossomed into a floral I could actually wear! It is very light, and slightly warmed with the briefest touch of almond, and I think I could actually smell the cold snow-wind! The scent is almost alive, as if you would catch it on a breeze while walking through a forest in March, when some buds opened in anticipation of longer days and warm sun, only to be pushed back into winter with a surprise dusting of snow.... I don't know how she does it, but Bravo, Beth!!
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I had seen maps of the town, and knew where to find the home of my people. It was told that I should be known and welcomed, for village legend lives long; so I hastened through Back Street to Circle Court, and across the fresh snow on the one full flagstone pavement in the town, to where Green Lane leads off behind the Market house. The old maps still held good, and I had no trouble; though at Arkham they must have lied when they said the trolleys ran to this place, since I saw not a wire overhead. Snow would have hid the rails in any case. I was glad I had chosen to walk, for the white village had seemed very beautiful from the hill; and now I was eager to knock at the door of my people, the seventh house on the left in Green Lane, with an ancient peaked roof and jutting second story, all built before 1650. The scent of ancient families harboring ancient secrets: thin dribbles of frankincense, bitter cistus, hollow myrrh, pale chamomile, and dark, furtive opoponax. I took a chance on this one even though I figured that the frankincense would dominate and not allow me to smell any of the other notes. It's a bit more complex at first but quickly dries down into all frank all the time. And then it's gone. Reminds me of Arcana, as most of the frankincense blends do.
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Held on December 5th, this is the festival of the Horned God of the Forest, one of the di indigetes of Rome, god of cattle, fertility, wild, untamed nature, and prophecy through dreams. The scent of a thick, starlit, unspoiled forest, with a burst of wild musk, opobalsamum, black bryony, mandragora, and hemlock. The label art on this is a little strange, a dapper young man riding Krampus. The dood on Krampus has a Victorian mustache. Anyways... Sniffed from the bottle, this is a sweet, cool pine with a touch of a skin-musk, sort of like Coyote / Ivanushka. On the skin, this scent develops a little bit of the metallic snap of pine, similar to Black Forest/Nocnitsa (without the dirt). It's not a sharp, airy pine by any means, and there may be a hint of snow but this is not a predominant note. The scent dries down to a soft, snuggly Coyote-esque forest aroma, with the pine and woods being a full, rounded note as opposed to bracing. It's actually quite nice and close to the skin, and if you're scared of 'forest' notes, you shouldn't be of this one!
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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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Go to Sleep, Darlings "I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again." - Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass Kiss-soft clouds of spun-sugar snow. So. Take Snow White, remove the Play Doh and the floral component that I am allergic to. Add the faintest touch of mint when wet and you get this. In other words, I need 312 bottles.
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Picture Books in Winter Summer fading, winter comes Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books. Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books. All the pretty things put by, Wait upon the children's eye, Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, In the picture story-books. We may see how all things are Seas and cities, near and far, And the flying fairies' looks, In the picture story-books. How am I to sing your praise, Happy chimney-corner days, Sitting safe in nursery nooks, Reading picture story-books? - Robert Louis Stevenson The wild joy of story time on a frosty winter morning: the well-loved, well-worn leather of old fairy tale books, the sweet mustiness of antique paper, fae glimmers of twinkling crystalline flowers, and a chunk of Scottish Tablet. Wet and drying this is all foody and leather. A sweet, warm, worn leather. As it drys the foody quality tones way down and the paper comes out to play. This is old book paper, the most convincing that I have smelled yet. The kind that makes your nose twitch a little from its dustiness. My grandmother used to always give me very old books that she picked up at library book sales and garage sales. Titles no one had ever even heard of, but I loved them. This reminds me of being a kid, holed up in my room with a crumbling book and a cookie I stole from the cupboard. I never find the flowers, but I'm am more than okay with that. This is the epitome of cozy. eta: This kept reminding me a bit of Antikythera Mechanism, which my husband wears so I tried it on him. (Not to say that I think it is masculine. I think it is very gender neutral.)
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Enhance your Wise Woman cred with this combination of sage, shrewd oils. Herbs of wisdom, flowers of wit, and the comforting scent of the hearth: hyssop, oak leaf, acorn hull, elder blossom, three sages, and tobacco absolute, with kitchen herbs and raw honey. First things first, my bottle came labeled "Helpful Crone" not "Sympathetic Crone." So, it looks like a name change happened before labels were made. In the bottle: honey, which usually overpowers everything and ... vanilla, is that you? On my skin: Sweet, warm, a little deep. I'm not picking up any of the sage, kitchen herbs, or elder flower at all - which is fine by me, honestly. The honey combines with some of the other things and kind of makes for a patchouli-less Feed Me and Fill Me With Pleasure. It has a bit of the cologne-y bite of tobacco/vanilla blends, which should mellow a little bit with age. The honey isn't the variety that goes powdery but it is a bit syrupy on me, again like FMaFMWP. There seems to be a faint woods behind it all, which I think is the acorn and oak leaf coming through. I'm conflicted - if it were less sweet, it might be just right. If you like honey, this is the thing for you. If you like this try: Feed Me and Fill Me With Pleasure, Araña, O.
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The Day of Kings, the Celebration of the Magi. In Mexico, on January 6th, children place their shoes by their windows. If they have been good during the previous year, the Wise Men tuck gifts into their shoes during the night. Hot cocoa with cinnamon, coffee, and brown sugar. Right out of the bottle this pretty much smells like hot cocoa to me. It's a milky chocolate. On my skin I can only detect a faint whiff of coffee. The cinnamon does not come out to play til it starts to fade out and it is very, very mellow. I hoped this would be more of a cinnamon coffee scent but on me it is more of a really chocolatey cafe mocha. Chocolate scent lovers will adore this.
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Once upon a time, there lived a stone-hearted, evil butcher and his grasping, covetous wife. Their shop was located near a parochial boarding school in a small village in eastern France. One day, three little boys passed the butcher's shop. Their clothes were neat and starched, and the wicked couple fancied that they could see gold stitching on the little boys' shirtcuffs. The butcher's eyes gleamed with avarice, and he hatched an evil plan to rob the children. His wife enticed the little boys into the shop and fed them poisoned sweets. Her husband then slit their throats, chopped their little bodies into pieces, and put the pieces into barrels. Good Saint Nicholas discovered the monstrous crime, and, through God's grace, resurrected the little boys. He confronted the vile butcher and forced him to atone for his crime. The butcher became Le Père Fouettard, Saint Nicholas' partner on his Christmas travels. Dressed in a soot-covered black suit that mirrors Father Christmas' suit of red and white, he travels with Saint Nick and dispenses coal and floggings to naughty children. Whip leather, coal dust, gaufrette, and black licorice. This is really different...in a good way. It has this odd sweet but not sweet scent. I really get the licorice full on with leather afternotes. Then you do get a hint of coal-kinda strange. This smells really good on me, I can really rock the leather and licorice for some reason . I'd recommend it for those that have that body chemistry where only food or non-floral scents smell good (like me).
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Mine were an old people, and were old even when this land was settled three hundred years before. And they were strange, because they had come as dark furtive folk from opiate southern gardens of orchids, and spoken another tongue before they learnt the tongue of the blue-eyed fishers. And now they were scattered, and shared only the rituals of mysteries that none living could understand. I was the only one who came back that night to the old fishing town as legend bade, for only the poor and the lonely remember. Memories of alien gardens that crawl with wide swaths of vivid, soporific blossoms: gargantuan orchids, blood-purple poppies, and monstrous black peonies. At first sniff, something repulses me a little, like rotting flowers, but it's kind of... evocative... What was I expecting anyway from a blend that suggests "alien gardens"? However, the initial iffy scent burns off fairly quickly, and all is left is a soft, dark floral scent that stays quite close to the skin. It seems like a COLD dark scent - so that's kind of fun in a way. In fact, the more I think about it, and sniff my wrist, the more I like this - I feel it's one of those scents that could grow on me, especially if I let it settle for a while. I'm actually kind of glad to have a bottle, because it's fairly unique and a nice addition to the BPAL collection :-) Rating: 3 out of 5 stars for now.
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... because the holidays can be really, really frustrating. Blueberry slush with a hint of lime and blackberry juice. Same snow note as Nuclear Winter, very high-pitched and cold/ozone. I also gets lots of lime and that is quite complementary to the snow note. I do get a bit of blueberry up front, but it fades quickly on me (which is fine, blueberry always smells just a tiny bit fake IMHO). There is a slight underlying sweetness and what I would call bitterness, more like blackberry leaf rather than sweet blackberry juice. The sweetness does balance out the cold note a litte but that slushy cold is what stays with you long-term. What is funny to me is that the cold note has a strong throw and the juicy/sweet notes have a short throw so when i bring my wrist close to my nose i get a lot more juicy sweetness but from far away i get more snow. Fun scent
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The Mahogany Tree Christmas is here; Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill, Little care we; Little we fear Weather without, Shelter'd about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sang, in its bloom; Night birds are we; Here we carouse, Singing, like them, Perch'd round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit- Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but short- When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Happy as this; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust! We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait; Happy we 'll be! Drink every one; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree. Drain we the cup.- Friend, art afraid? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up; Empty it yet; Let us forget, Round the old tree. Sorrows, begone! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills, Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, Blue-devil sprite, Leave us to-night, Round the old tree. - William Makepeace Thackeray Sorrows, begone! Sweet wine, sparkling laughter, warm companionship, and the song of night-birds under a canopy of rustling mahogany: robin-red currants, soft nightingale-brown tonka, glossy starling-black labdanum, hearth-warm amber, mahogany sap, winter woods, a splash of Muscat, and gentle Christmas snow. In The bottle: The Mahogany note from Glowing Vulva plus some distant red wine. Wet On Skin: Same, but with the mahogany note even stronger and the wine receding into almost an afterthought. Dry Down: A little touch of ozone has shown up- which I'm imagining to be the snow note this time out, but mostly this reads like a Mahogany Single Note. Sadly, I'm not getting any tonk a or amber at all and the wine note seems to have vanished entirely. In All: Low throw and a little seems to be going a long way on my skin. Since I really like the Mahogany note, I'm happy to have a bottle, though I wasn't kidding about this behaving like a single note on my skin- I'll let it age and revisit to see if anything pops out in a few months but for now, I shall treat it as a single note and use appropriately
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The Miskatonic Valley’s premiere sex shop. Black and red musks with honey, leather, and sugared black rose. In the bottle: Leather, leather and leather! Definitely a black, new leather. Wet: Still just about a single note leather on me. This is really lovely. There's something just a little powdery to it (likely the honey), but not in a way that would ruin it. Very strong, a big throw for me on this. Dry: Leather, leather leather. If I wanted a SN leather I sure got it! I really do like this and I don't mind at all that it's all leather on me, though I would have liked some of that sugared black rose.
