I can’t even deal with the cuteness of this cat of ours. I awaken from yet another TROLLCAT-induced nap to this:
Why yes I’m being cute. Now pet me.
So this is the end of Act III. Since I’m only just now beginning to acquire Act IV (and still need a few of Act II & III, I think I shall post my random BPAL reviews and some past Holiday, General Catalogue, Lunacy, Charity, and event exclusives until I have enough to continue. Plus the Trading Post has hair gloss, and I shall always wish for Atmosphere sprays for this collection because I want to surround myself in the scents of this amazing world!
(Will add review Meskhenet, The Vulture Maiden here when I acquire a bottle)
Thalassa, The Galapagos Mermaid
A massive glass tank is positioned on the stage, decorated with a rough canvas painting of sand and sea. Within the tank, you see a swirl of ivory, coral, and russet. After a few rushed passes, the furiously moving creature slows and makes her way towards the glass. As she approaches, you see that her features are lovely and delicate, and though her pearl-adorned torso is that of a beautiful, slender woman, her bewitching face is crowned by lethal spikes and instead of legs she has a writhing serpentine tail. Upon spotting you, her dorsal spikes flare, and she sneers maliciously. She slaps the face of the tank with her powerful tail, and you hear a crack and groan as the glass fractures under the strain.
Seaweed, kelp, salty ocean spray, bitter almond, night-blooming jasmine, frankincense, and benzoin.
In the Bottle: California Coast in the morning, seaweed on the beach after a storm, breeze with Incense and flowers.
On Me: It smells like someone’s Jasmine bloomed, its perfume wafting out onto the seaweed covered beach(before it gets cleaned up). Incense is also on the breeze, but it’s a classy incense.
Tiresias, The Androgyne
Upon the next stage, a spotlight is focused on a mammoth bronze sculpture of two snakes entwined. Their bodies are wrapped around each other in an intimate embrace, and their tongues touch suggestively. The deep, somber boom of a standing bass leads into a twelve-string guitar’s plaintive moan, and as the music swells, a stunning, statuesque woman steps out from behind the statue, her fierce and regal face in profile. The spotlight dims to a deep amber-red, and shines a dark, sanguine light onto her, tinting her long, wild hair the color of blood. She sings:
Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless.
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless.
Little white flowers will never awaken you,
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you.
Angels have no thought of ever returning you.
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?
She turns, and abruptly faces left. Her features are coarser, more masculine, and you notice the rough, dusky shadow of an evening beard on the singer’s face. On this side, the hair is cropped short, and as s/he sighs and begins the next verse, you hear the voice deepen to a weathered, sorrowful baritone.
Gloomy is Sunday; with shadows I spend it all.
My heart and I have decided to end it all.
Soon there’ll be candles and prayers that are sad, I know.
Death is no dream, for in death I’m caressing you.
With the last breath of my soul I’ll be blessing you.
The singer turns to face the audience, and your senses reel. On the left side, the features are sharp, but feminine. You can see the curve of her breast, the soft fullness of her hips, the arch of her fine brow. On the right, it is the body of an Adonis, muscular and commanding. You see that a thick seam runs down the center of the body, stitched roughly.
Though the vision is disconcerting, the warmth and passion in the singer’s voice swells inside your heart, and you are spellbound. Enraptured, you realize that though the gender is opposed on either side, one soul binds the whole.
Dark, moody, and bittersweet: black currant, patchouli, tobacco, cinnamon leaf, caramel, muguet, and red sandalwood.
In the Bottle: It’s a perfect balance of Masculine and Feminine. Sweet, Woodsy, Gourmand, Earthy, Spicy.
On Me: It’s truly Androgynous, no one note sticks out, but each one holds each other in perfect balance to make an incredible story in scent.
The Wild Men of Jezirat Al Tennyn
You are shocked out of the torch song’s melancholy mood by shrieks, hoots, and yowls. You move to your left, and see that instead of a stage, a gigantic iron cage has been hung, hovering a few feet off of the ground. Elaborate, delicate silver sigils are engraved upon huge iron disks that have been mounted to the sides of the cage, and they flicker and spark whenever one of the wild men touches the iron bars that imprison them. The backdrop depicts a blistering volcanic eruption, spiked with thick luminescent bolts of lightning. Several beings are held within the cage, male and female, spanning every age. They flash their razor-fanged smiles at you malevolently as they anxiously crawl, pace, and stalk the length of their prison, stopping occasionally to pose and preen as they gossip with one another in an unrecognizable guttural, grinding language. Their tattooed skin glows an angry crimson, curving horns protrude from their skulls, and their eyes blaze with unholy light.
Fiery, primal, and precociously diabolical: red amber, Spanish moss, Indonesian patchouli, ambergris, sweet ambrette seed, red pepper, two cloves, and vanilla flower
In the Bottle: Strangely like Blood and a spiced sweet cream. It’s a sharp, pungent metallic tang, with a lovely spiced sweetened cream.
On Me: A very mossy, earthy, fossil like smell merging with a backdrop of this Bloody, pungent, metallic spice scent, and a sweet creamy spiciness. Lasts ages on me. I think I will need more.
(Will place a review here for Wulric, The Wolfman when I get a bottle, but the sample I was gifted by a friend tells me it’s multiple bottle backup worthy)
Zarita, The Doll Girl
A tiny woman stands in the center of the stage, the perfect woman in miniature, her copper hair bouncing in elegant curls. She is surrounded on all sides by a necropolis of maimed, mutilated stuffed animals, decapitated fashion dolls, and eviscerated wooden figures. It is a strangely ghastly tableau: the disemboweled toys ooze fiberfill, batting, and sawdust from their gaping wounds. In one dainty hand she clutches a shard of glass, and in the other she nimbly twirls a razor blade. Her face is twisted in a grimace of mad ferocity, and she hisses as she brandishes her makeshift weapons at you. “Play with me?” she growls.
Soft, yet sociopathic: white carnation, iris, orange blossom, poisonous pale white berries, and sugared cream.
In the Bottle: Carnations and Creamsicles.
On Me: That description fits fairly well, with the Carnation being delicately balanced with the creaminess of the citrus. You almost miss that sharp bite of those white berries, but they are there. I’m very anxious now to try the Hair gloss that pairs with it; Razors in a Doll House.
Priala, The Human Phoenix
As you come to the final stage, you see a spotlight focused upon a large pile of pitch-black ashes on the center of the floor. A parchment scroll has been tacked to the foot of the stage. It reads:
Now I will believe
That there are unicorns; that in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoenix’ throne; one phoenix
At this hour reigning there.
You catch a whiff of burnt cinnamon, and a whirlwind begins to form within the center of the cold pyre. The ashes rise, condense, and coalesce into the dusky form of a woman. She shakes her body gently, tossing her hair, and the ashes fall from her skin. She is perfect, radiant: not a single cinder mars the flawlessness of her countenance. Her body seems to cast a shadow shaped like a triumphant bird, wings outstretched, onto the blank taupe canvas behind her. Her eyes are closed, and her head is bowed; her expressionless face is enigmatic. Her dark eyes begin to glow, and her mouth turns up in a secretive, intimate smile. She throws back her head and extends her arms, and suddenly the scent of smoldering myrrh assails you. Within moments, the woman explodes into flame, and you see that her face is now a vision of passionate ecstasy. The turbulence of the conflagration whips around her violently, and gouts of flame burst from her body, igniting the canvas behind her. She raises her arms in exultation, and through the flames, you see both the outline of her scorched black skeleton and the shadow of the phoenix triumphant.
Three deep, dark myrrhs, smoke, cassia, and cinnamon bark.
In the Bottle: Sweet and Spicy. I love it already.
On Me: The Myrrh and Cinnamons are perfectly balanced to make this sweetly spiced scent, with this thought of burning. Lighting this incense on fire would be a treat.
**Indulgent scents were acquired from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, all artwork shown here by Julie Dillon for their collection**