Discover, collect and review

It's spectacular, BUT only in colder months. I tried it first in summer and it didn't impress me at all. Now, when the weather is more appropriate, I just... fell in love with it. The incense is way more prominent on my skin, honey is also very detectable as a top note. It's slightly sweet, slightly burnt hay, slightly powdery. Amazing combination, somehow reminds me of childhood.

A beautiful fresh crisp apple mixed with other fresh fruit notes. Green and slightly peppery with a soapy clean quality. Absolutely beautiful scent.

One White Crow smells like the light of the moon and the long shadows it casts along a meandering path of tangled fern and creeping moss in a lost landscape, a place that no longer exists or that no longer exists as it did in your memory from some time before now. A place where violets bloom in reverse in the dusky glooms just before dawn, the silent yawning hour when dreams are most vivid and reality most fragile. It’s that ancient spill of grief, an aubade lamenting the eerie honeysuckle light of a world that’s tilted just a fraction off its axis, whose sun no longer shines in a way you recognize. And while, of course, the world has changed and the sunlight does gleam from a different angle, the scent is mostly the realization that it’s you, your own heart, that has become different, estranged. Estrange, to make oneself a stranger. This is the scent of all the yous you’ve lost. That you’ll never meet again. In the sunlight or the moonlight or any landscape at all.

April Aromatics Calling All Angels is plump unearthly fruits, gorged on ancient amber nectar, hanging heavy at twilight, eventually drying and cracking in the heat of a dying sun. Silent sisters, veiled in mystery, stretch these honey-drunk orbs across a vast expanse of time littered with bone, their flesh becoming supple leather under reverent, unceasing hands. Wisps of aromatic smoke rise from flint-scattered pyres, and the air crackles with the essence of aeons compressed into chips of burnished crystal, shards of petrified sunlight, and the tawny tears of grieving trees. The sisters' nimble fingers arrange fragments of balsamic fruit-flesh and sticky sap-jewels, the assemblage of an olfactory mosaic, redolent of a hallowed sweetness entirely beyond mortality’s grasp. In this fragrance of plummy depths wreathed with leathery whispers, of resinous rituals and sacred smoke, the boundaries between plant, mineral, and devotion blur into a hazy, intoxicating mirage, an ambrosial testament to the everlasting, endless, and eternal.

Lilac and Gooseberries is an uncomplicated tumble of tart, tangy berries against a delicate floral backdrop. It’s not as sharp or bitter as I would have expected... nor as interesting. It smells more like the idea of a person than a person. Like someone is describing his amazing sorceress girlfriend, and she's so perfect and wonderful and never farts or eats onion sandwiches or draws blood or makes mistakes, and he leaves out all the nuance and complexity of what makes his beloved so intriguing. It's like someone fed all their perfect girlfriend material into an AI machine, and it produced a robot to their specifications, but she has no personality and hasn't yet become self-aware. And yet…there are some days when I really need that blank slate to build myself up to be pretty and put together and ~definitely very normal~ because this is what the world expects of me.

Mikado Bark is a cozy, comforting scent without any of the typical hallmarks perfumes of coziness and comfort rely on. It's not rich or foody, and I would not say it's overly nostalgic in any particular way. It's a fragrance whose spicy, woody notes are all not exactly ghosts of themselves, but they've all been shushed and hushed, and all together, their muted echoes harmonize with exquisite subtlety. It's a perfume that hovers like a hazy veil, both grounding and uplifting in its gentle presence. It carries the softness of lamplight pooling in shadows at dusk, yet also evokes the fleeting warmth of sunlight piercing gloomy afternoon clouds. The scent invites introspection, smoothing sharp edges and muting bold tones into a delicate accord. It's as if familiar aromatic notes have been reimagined - their essence captured, then softened and warmed. The fragrance conjures the image of a lone verdant remnant amid a sea of faded crimson and rust as October yields to November's chill. Lingering in the air, it embodies the autumnal, contemplative spirit of hobbits, reimagined as a gremlincore playlist steeped in hauntological reverb.