Sproing! into the Coffee Cups

Revisiting ZOMG Smells Spring Sproing smelly and Coffee smells because nom nom.


SPROING! is our limited scent this month, full of restless hope as we look toward Spring: green shoots, early cherry blossoms, warming earth, crocus flower, white musk, jasmine tea, pollen, and early honey– because the air is still a bit nippy, and warm tea does not go amiss as the sweet outside air turns lavender with evening. (No actual lavender is in this one, though).

In the bottle: It’s flowers soaked in tea.

On Me:  It’s a really heady floral, green notes weaving in and out, the tea is not so prominent, but wow, I feel so girly with this.                            On My Son: Passed due to overly flowery girliness, as it’s a bit less green and tea than he remembers.

Coffee Bee

Coffee bee! This one’s going to stick around as a non-limited scent of, well, a fine honey latte with all the usual tastiness in it– wildflower honey, one perfect espresso shot, sweet milk, and warm whipped latte froth.

In the bottle: It’s smelling so good, I actually made a latte with honey.

On Me:  It started out as a honeyed Espresso with a shot of sweet frothed cream, then a bit later, all I smell is the honey.
On My Son:  Even more delicious coffee…the little stinker.

Too Latte

Do you hate coffee? Do you hate sweet, rich coffee? Do not get this scent. It is exactly what it says on the label: Too Latte. Rub it on your skin and become a beverage at your own peril in the presence of morning zombies. Zomg is not responsible for gnawed wrists, limbs, or the accidental rending of garments after the application of this coffee bait. 

In the Bottle: Yup.  Rich, sweet, dark, frothy, creamy coffee.

On Me: *om nom nom nom*  Yes, I know Ariel warned us.                                                                On My Son: *runs away before not-awake Mom Zombie noms my wrists*

The Longest Night

Deep, dark, inspiring and warm: a scent for the Longest Night. Winter Solstice is coming up December 22! Here’s a scent to contemplate life by, smell gorgeous, and remember the good things about the dark. Dirt, clean earthy patchouli, myrrh, vetiver, black rum, and espresso keep it dark, with a hint of old books for nostalgia and petitgrain for the bitter memories that sweeten our appreciation of the things that are good in life. 

In the Bottle:  Rich, Dark, Boozy Espresso.

On Me:  Boozy Coffee spilled on the ground and old books.  Myrrh drifts in later. I love this.          On My Son: Espresso and old books, with hints of damp earth and resins.


**Indulgent treats by ZOMG Smells, reviews by me**



221 B Baker Street revisited.

When last we reviewed these two, TROLLCAT gave us a mystery…my son still likes to dress the part of the world-famous consulting detective, and I love indulging in creating the costumes.

It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of ‘97 that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me at a glance that something was amiss.

“Come, Watson, come!” he cried. “The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!”

221B is a project that will overlap between Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and Black Phoenix Trading Post. Many members of the dramatis personæ will be available in perpetuity through the general catalogue, while the stories themselves will manifest as limited edition runs.

Label artwork for this line was created by Julie Dillon and Abigail Larson.

Sherlock Holmes

My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don’t know.

A fastidiously clean scent, with a dash of pipe and cigarette tobacco. Faintly beneath, you catch the fragrance of a smear of greasepaint, a stray horsehair, and a whisper of Moroccan leather and rosin.

In the bottle:  Sweet, rich Pipe Tobacco.  It makes me miss my Peterson Churchwarden.

On me:  If you’ve ever been around Violinists, you’ll recognise the piney aroma of rosin, and it smells sweet and resinously clean.  The Leather is fainter than most blends they make with Leather, and this is a good thing.  It adds a subtle complexity that’s purely Holmes.  If you’ve read A Study in Scarlet, it might make you think of the intro where Stamford explains Holmes to an incredulous Watson, or of the Leather chair he often sat in, fingers steepled in concentration.  There’s a pungent, almost turpentine scent of old-world greasepaint.  Finally, there’s the fragrant presence of the Tobacco he keeps in the toe-end of a Persian slipper.  This is glorious, as it captures him quite nicely.

My Son has decided that this scent is the one he wears whenever he performs with the orchestra, so I’m always having to be quick on the draw when it’s in stock so he has a good supply of it.  He’s a perfect study of concentration whenever he thinks nobody is watching him, and it’s just beautiful.

He encapsulates Holmes perfectly wearing this, concentrating intently on his music, accurately deducing how often I peer in at his practice, or when the cat is going to come downstairs and listen(sometimes I envy TROLLCAT, as he gets to stay) to his studies.

(I love watching him play his Violin whenever he practises, much to his eternal embarrassment–“Moooom, I’m still learning the piece, SHOO!”)

He sometimes pairs it with Perfect Fifths to add more rosin, and a hint of sweetness that transforms the already glorious tobacco into a far richer blend.

Dr. John H. Watson

I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life.

Tweed and crisp linen, lime-tinged aftershave, the sleek steel and oil of a well-cared for service revolver, and the echo of a Jezail bullet shell.

In the Bottle:  It reminds me lightly of A Battered Old Felt, from their Adventures of the Blue Carbuncle collection, with that lime cream scent, and freshly pressed linens, which I’m very familiar with, having helped my Mother care for them from time to time.

On me: It’s more complex.  There’s a sharp, metallic tang in the background, and the pungent aroma of solvents.  The well-tailored gentleman with the lime scent brings the Soldier and doctor to crystal clear reality.

On My Son:  It’s very elegant, more sharply masculine on him, which makes the Mother part of me tear up, as 12+1 will turn into Adulthood faster than I’ll ever be ready for it, but it’s appropriately suited to him, moreso than those monotonous sprays that kids his age fancy these days.  It’s I guess a timeless gentlemanly elegance that never goes out of fashion on the right person.

I hope they do A Scandal in Bohemia next.  I want them to make Irene Adler come roaring to life in High C.  The Opera Diva, the actress, the Woman.  Or perhaps The Hound of the Baskervilles.  The Speckled Band…so many beautiful tales to craft their magic.


**Indulgent scents were acquired from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, all artwork shown here by Julie Dillon and Abigail Larson for their collection**


Tired of feeling tired…

…but I love my furry, purring hot water bottle.

He’s extra cuddly because he loves anything Lavender, and our first two scents here are very Lavender forward. It’s naptime again…I feel like Garfield here, and it’s not even Monday.

Today marks twenty-six years since the accident that drastically changed the lives of me, my sister, her friend, and our friends and family.

It’s the first time I don’t feel like turning the phone and internet off, keeping my kiddo home and hiding us in my blanket fort with a pint of Talenti gelato No. 19 for me, a pint of chocolate ice cream for him, and turning the mini DVD player into a movie theatre.  Still not allowing anyone to make Chicken Tonight, but I’d like to think I’ve made progress.

Have some reviews of relaxing smells.

ZOMG Smells General Catalogue

Lord Alfred Douglas is best remembered as Bosie, Oscar Wilde’s famously terrible boyfriend and almost certainly the beautiful, unreliable model for Dorian Grey. When Bosie caught the flu, Wilde nursed him back to health; once recovered, Bosie went off to enjoy life. Wilde came down with it next; instead of returning the favor, Bosie sent his hotel bill on Wilde’s birthday. They fought and parted several times, but Wilde kept coming back.

What did Wilde see in him?

Part of the attraction was probably the challenge of winning Bosie’s attention. He was not a caretaker type, and his was not an unconditional love. It had to be attracted, must be enticed, and it could not be caught and held– it could only be enjoyed while it lasted.

This is a fresh, enticing scent that makes you want to inhale a little more deeply and try to catch the elusive hint of formal gardens, romantic hedge mazes, the old-fashioned masculine of lavender, the palest of musks, and a sharp, spicy green galbanum that hints at an untamed heart beneath the lightly sugared surface.

In the Bottle: Lavender Lavender Lavender green!

On Me: This reminds me a bit of the classic Fougere Royale(that I was fortunate enough to be able to smell and try), with just a pale hint of musk.

On My Son:  The similarity to Fougere Royale is even moreso on him, and the musk is almost a whisper.  So elegant.

It  also reminds me a bit of BPAL’s


A sophisticated traditional gentleman’s cologne, with just the slightest taint of patchouli’s passion, tonka bean’s decadence, the philanthropy of bergamot, moss’ cynicism, the sharp wit of lavender, and the hopeless romantic longing of jasmine and thyme

…but without the busyness the heady notes of Jasmine and grounding Patchouli bring, and the Lavender, Tonka, Moss, and Bergamot evokes the classic fougeres, it’s this Lavendery sweetness and sharp green that oddly enough ties them together, with the musk playing very light and subtle…and sexy.

It’s clean and simple, yet wild and profoundly complex like the man it was named for, and I’m endlessly amused that Wilde and Bosie probably will be my go-to scent pairing for a while.

Brontosaurus Loves Triceratops
ZOMG Smells General Catalogue

It’s not Brontosaurus’s fault that it’s just an Apatosaurus head on a Diplodocus body, and it’s certainly not Triceratops’ fault that it may OR MAY NOT be just the juvenile form of Torosaurus. That doesn’t matter, not even a little tiny bit, because there’s a secret club for things that are too rad not to exist and now they’re both in it. 

This is a scent dedicated to their cryptozoological comradeship; the secret knock to the clubhouse door of prehistoric awesome, if you will. Herbal, masculine, and Pangean: bay laurel, dry grasses, white pepper, sun-weathered wood. 

In the bottle, pepper. All I could smell was fresh pepper, and green wood. Perfect!
Or so I thought.

On me: It’s a very classic fougere with spice, akin to Drakkar Noir, then it changed to a greener, more primal smell than that.  It needed aging to smooth it out, and the sharpness transformed into this exquisite masculine.
It smells like what I imagine walking with the dinosaurs in their forest would smell like.

I think I need a bottle now, and age it for a while.  It’s really good.

 Brownian Motion
ZOMG Smells General Catalogue

With apologies to Douglas Adams, Brownian motion isn’t just for tea! We prefer a coffee-based approach to the random movement of atoms suspended in a liquid, and we’ve gone and made it a mocha just for kicks. If you squint hard enough, maybe you can see them zooming around in there.

In the Bottle:  Rich chocolate infused coffee.

On Me:  The perfect little headache remedy.  Rich sweet coffee and chocolate.  So delicious.

On My Son:  Little stinker always smells better than I do, and this is no exception.

Candy Mechanic
ZOMG Smells General Catalogue

One of our very own customers utterly charmed us into designing this by mentioning that her father repaired machinery at a candy factory and thus came home smelling like candy and machine oil. We found this to be a delightful concept and created Candy Mechanic as an olfactory ode to the brave, kind, mechanically-minded souls who keep our society supplied with confections by keeping our candy machines running! The Candy Mechanic is a noble figure: always ready with a chocolate wrench or a vanilla bolt, ever-smiling and gently administering caramel oil to the fragrant gears of our candy behemoth as needed.

(We sent that customer our very first squee of Candy Mechanic a month early as a surprise, so she could try it first.)

Dark chocolate, extra-buttery vanilla, the sticky-sweetness of soft candy and a whiff of machine oil.

In the Bottle: Warm, ooey, gooey, buttery chocolate, ready for pouring into the molds.

On Me:  Candycandycandycandy, and a bit of burnt chocolate(probably the machine oil didn’t make it on time). I’m sad, yet amused

On My Son:  He said, “It smells like I’m fixing a chocolate machine”. He smelled like the gear oil you put on the industrial machines to keep them running smoothly all over his coveralls, and then the chocolate and candies went “SPLUT!” all over.


** I received these insanely indulgent treats from ZOMG Smells.  The opinions are my own, because I’m so crazy about them I just need to spread the love.  I also review here a BPAL scent because it’s a great match-up.**


Look out Nermal, TROLLCAT is stealing your cuteness crown…Act III draws to a close.

I can’t even deal with the cuteness of this cat of ours.  I awaken from yet another TROLLCAT-induced nap to this:

Move over Nermal, heeeere's TROLLCAT!

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?
Gloomy Sunday.

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.
Gloomy Sunday.

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**


Many Happy Returns of the Day…

Today is my baby sisters birthday.

She is a Mother’s day baby, as my brother was a Father’s day baby.  I was born on a hotter than heck Summer day of no holiday.

I used to be ridiculously jealous of that fact until I realised they had to share the spotlight with  Mom and Dad, who couldn’t have that day because they had to run around and plan kids birthday parties instead of having the kids spoil them rotten.

It seems only yesterday I was braiding your hair and wishing you were old enough to have a tea party…or play silly games.

Remember when I used to flail around madly trying to find a way to make you smile and fall asleep instead of be sadI used to derp around and make your toys sing to youthrow my voice like a big goofball before falling off the top bunk and pretending it was on purpose…your plush animals sang “Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight” to you when you couldn’t sleep?

How about me trying to not take you outside to play and get all muddy before we went to Busia and Dzia Dzia’s house…I always failed at that.

Any time I could play with you was worth all the trouble I got into for coming back in and bringing you and I covered in mud, grass, and dandelions…or worse, our matching and hopelessly torn dresses from climbing the acacia trees out front.

Happy Birthday Sunshine.

You’re so wonderful, and I’m so proud of the amazing woman you’ve become.



More Weird Science…part II


A Low-Powered Collision (squee set)

Bottom Quark 

Trivia moment: shortly after their discovery, there was a short but fierce fracas over what this quark and its partner quark would be named. We know them now as Top and Bottom, but they were nearly Truth and Beauty. We weep for this lost opportunity to make the poetry of particle physics sound properly poetic for once.

We’ve tried to make this quark’s scent both bottom-y (not the one you sit on, that would be gross) and beautiful. Geranium, spicy ginger, vanilla custard, and a little bit of leather in just the right place.

In the Bottle: Someone spilled a gingered custard on that Leather Jacket.

On Me: Spicy, creamy, and just a bit gothy dark.  On My Son:  Of the ones with Leather so far, he liked this one best, as he said it’s sweet and spicy.

Charm Quark 

Any particle containing a charm quark is considered a charmed particle, as opposed to a charming particle. We wonder why–seriously, have you ever seen a D meson? It’s seriously charming.

So what does this most gracious and charismatic of elemental particles smell like? It pleases us to imagine that it smells of white petits-fours glacés, milk caramel, and the stickiest amber we could get our hands on.

In the Bottle:

On Me: Take Rose in Amber, remove the Rose, and add CAAAAAAKE!  It’s delicious and divine. On My Son: Even better than me, loads of gooey caramel…the stinker.

Strange Quark

The strange quark: how strange is it?

(so strange they made a movie out of it! No more Rocky references, promise.)

Turns out it’s pretty strange; as a particle, perhaps redundantly, it has strangeness. Strangeness affects the rate of particle decay among other things that are imperfectly understood, especially by us. But we love it so, because it has caused many people before us to wonder what the heck was going on. Our take on it: a strangely wholesome mess of musky-sweet durian meat, patchouli root, rum and kola nut.

In the Squee:  Mincemeat and fruitcake baked in an Earthen Oven.

On Me: Pretty much the above, with an extra heap of fresh, wet, black dirt and springy moss. On My Son: He says it smells like I dropped a batch of mincemeat filling in the rain.  Why I’d be carrying it in the rain is a mystery.  He smells nice though, and the musk gives it a more elegant and less squishy sweetness.


A vanilla-white musk-red sandalwood blend that is meant to complement ALL the quark scents. Like the particle it’s named after, it sticks things together. 🙂

In the Squee: Can I just say I want a huge bottle of this?  It’s that perfect Vanilla with a musky woodsy balance.

On Me: I love this Vanilla!  It’s not fake candles, nor imitation extract.  It’s like splitting a Vanilla Bean pod, then add a light musk that’s not cloying, and blend with a gorgeous Sandalwood. On My Son: Perfection.  It also made all the dark scents balanced for him.


** I received these insanely indulgent treats from ZOMG Smells.  The opinions are my own, because I’m so crazy about them I just need to spread the love.**


For your amusement: TROLLCAT and his partner-in-crime.

TROLLCAT has been sabotaging my attempts at posting.  He now has a twelve-plus-one partner-in-crime, who, as you will see, has very much mastered his Uncle Chris’fers brand of snark and humour…I like to think he’d be very proud of his protége.

Continuing on with Act III:

++ ACT 3: FIAT NOX: The 13-in-1

Hope and Faith, The Siamese Twins

A huge crowd mills in front of the next stage. You hear the din of their voices, chattering in a Babel’s fall of languages, laughing and buzzing with a strange anticipation. As you get closer, you notice that they are wearing a motley mix of clothing from ages past… all rotting, all in shreds. In the sea of faces, all bearing a similar chalky pallor, some stand out: there is a woman in a threadbare Burgundian gown, a young man in torn breeches and sagging slops, a maiden in a dagged-sleeve houppelande that is splattered with cruor, a snarling Victorian rogue with a battered silk top hat, and a vacant-eyed man in a shredded Confederate uniform. As you make your way through the crowd, you feel cold fingers pluck at your clothing, and the hard, almost glassy skin that you brush against radiates an unnatural cold. You hear tittering sighs as you push through the gathering, and your skin prickles as you feel icy breath upon your neck. Abruptly, someone cries out, and the strange congregation begins clapping a steady rhythm. Their voices rise in a tintamar of ghastly cheers as torches flare to life. The firelight illuminates a gargantuan, shining black stake in the center of the stage. It is festooned with black ribbons, drooping moss, and viciously-colored poisonous blooms in a playful, grotesque mockery of a Maypole. Two women, clutched tightly in a brutal embrace, spin onto the stage, shaking a tambourine and clacking a hembra in time with the clapping. One is clad in violet, with violet tresses to match; the other is a vision of swirling rose. Their long, waving hair whips in manic arcs as they twirl, stomp, and pirouette around the onyx shaft. The crowd becomes more and more frenzied as the dance reaches a mad crescendo, and suddenly you realize that the two are one: they are conjoined, identical twins, bound eternally at the ribs. The violet sister, caught in the throes of the ritual’s passion, throws her head back and moans. She bares a set of gleaming white fangs and bites deeply into her sister’s neck. The rose maiden screams in joy, and returns her sister’s violent kiss as the crowd explodes into Corybantic mayhem.

Simplicity and innocence, gleefully despoiled! Hope is sugared rose, Faith is sugared violet. The sisters are inseparable.

In the Bottle(s): Candied Roses and Candied Violets

On Me: Rock Candy made with Roses and the other Violets.
Together, it’s like the old “Roses are Red” song(if you don’t know this one, you’re too young, not Polish, or both.) I adore the lovely sweetened florals all three ways I can wear them.

On My Son: He declined for obvious reasons.

“For reasons including I do NOT want to smell like candied flower farts!”


Isaac, the Living Skeleton

To your side, you hear a man’s deep whisper, “Slowly I turned… inch by inch… step by step….” A scream interrupts him, and a roar of laughter pulses through the shadowed hall. Following the commotion, you move to the next stage. A bone-thin man moves across the stage, and sits upon an overstuffed, threadbare armchair. A battered violin is propped against the chair’s side. The audience starts to dissipate, and you realize that you must have just missed his performance. Relaxing, he reclines lazily, and as the light falls on his face, you come to realize that he is truly skeletal: a thin membrane of skin covers most of his body, but in many places, bone is completely exposed. He winks at you, and chuckles at your obvious discomfiture. The sweet smoke from his cigar touches your senses, and you hear the soft clink of the ice as he swirls the bourbon in his tumbler.

“Late for the show, are ya, friend? I’ll tell you a quick one, and then you’d best skedaddle. I have better things to do than sit here and be gawked at all night.” He takes a swig from his tumbler.

“A man goes to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist says, ‘I think you’re crazy.’ The man says, ‘I want a second opinion.’ The psychiatrist shrugs and says, ‘Alright, you’re ugly, too.’”

His attention is diverted by a scantily clad woman in the audience beside you, and he leers at her. “Hello, nurse!” he growls, and leans towards her lecherously. “How’s about you come back to my dressing room, and I show you my stamp collection?”

Bourbon, black tobacco tar, dry bone, bay rum aftershave, and sleazy cologne

In the Bottle: Tobacco, booze, Sleazy sleazy guy.

On Me: Yeah, I smell like a sleazy guy(until it dries). Once dry, it’s Bourbon, Bay Rum, good Cigars, and well, it’s a nice masculine scent.

**If anyone wants to cosplay as Dean Domino(Fallout: New Vegas), this here’s what you need to wear for scent. Bwahahahaaaa! I love this!**

I tried to get my Son to try it, but he said,

“Not today, Satan!” 

(“Sorry Mom, it just slipped out.”)

I laughed even more at that outburst, and have sworn revenge(or just, yanno, making him try it on anyway when he’s off-guard).

Chris’fer, you trained him well.


Kataniya, The Clockwork Woman

The sound of metal smashing metal jars your ears, and you follow the cacophony to the next stage. The backdrop is painted with streaks of lightning, and you see that an iron sign hangs above it, now broken, pounded into pieces, possibly by a hammer or mallet. Despite the damage, you can still make out the words that have been burned into its face:

Property of Pygmalion Industries, LLC

A slender, willowy blonde is facing the sign, looking up at it thoughtfully. She reaches up, and with unbelievable strength, speed, and fury, pounds the sign with her fists until it is an unrecognizable mess, and it falls to the ground with a thunderous crash. She turns, and you realize that this is no creature born of woman: she is half human, half machine. Her exposed stomach shows brass and copper gears, and her joints are girded with steel. You see that her hands are covered in blood as she reaches towards a large burlap sack on the floor, picks it up, and tosses it at your feet. It lands with a sickening wet splat. She locks her gaze on yours, and her hollow, mechanical voice murmurs, “I am no man’s property.”

Gentle flowers over hot metal, shocked to life.

In the Bottle: Hot steel in the Summer sun, flowers.

On Me: Hahahaaa! I smell like a girly girl who just finished welding. That metallic tang is like Ozone and a fresh weld, then toss flowers on the breeze.
On My Son: He declined for obvious reasons(among which was me laughing like an absolute lunatic).

“No, seriously.  It was like Betty Boop crossed with the Joker.  Would YOU try on something handed to you after seeing that?  I didn’t think so.”


**Indulgent scents were acquired from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, all artwork shown here by Julie Dillon for their collection**