Naamah_Darling

I love dragon's blood and I love amber, so I fail to see how this could screw up on me. In the bottle it's sweet and cool, a light dragon's blood blended with a very pure and airy amber. On, it's great. A very fine amber blends perfectly with the dragon's blood and warms it up to a luminously red scent. The aromas of the two -- powdery amber with its whiff of spice and juicy dragon's blood with its fruity edge -- blend beautifully, making this a fine, rich scent without a tremendous amount of throw. It's a sensual, spicy smell, inviting and warm, and just the slightest bit playful. Really, really nice. It smells almost exactly like I imagined it would, only brighter – both the dragon's blood and the amber used here are toward the lighter end. It gets really warm and fuzzy as it dries, quite incense-like, actually. It darkens and deepens as it goes on, from red-gold to a golden brown; so very, very fine. This is to the nose as lush and guilty a delight as the tactile pleasure of fine, long-fiber velvet. To me it seems like a very warm and safe and embracing scent; protective. For a rarity, it's a scent that only gets more beautiful as it ages. Hours later, it's become a sweet, fuzzy, warmly cuddlesome scent with just a hint of dignified poise around the edges. Truly lovely, a very simple and uncomplicated scent that is nevertheless quite alluring.

I've had this one forever, and it's bugging me, so I'll review it. I could use a little comfort, beauty, and joy myself. In the bottle, it's juicy and wet, a pinkish-gold smell like wet flowers. It's very clean, with a dash of something high and soft that is almost like cucumber or melon. The tea, perhaps. It's quite floral, so I'm uncertain of this one. As a disclaimer, I must state that florals hate me, I know that, but I'm not capable of leaving an imp untested. On, the trio of flowers come right out. I'm just not getting the earthy bloom of patchouli, nor the warm light of amber. Instead, what I'm getting as they blend is an atrocious ammonia smell like acrid human urine (not that super-sharp cat pee, or burning-rubber dog pee, but sour human pee). If I don't sniff it too close, it's not bad, but it's still very floral. It's a good smell, sort of floral and pleasant, as long as I don't go cuddling up to it. Then it smells like pee. I wanted to like it but obviously something in it profoundly hates my chemistry. As it settles, it becomes a powdery floral – no surprise, but sad, considering this had other ingredients that I had hoped would bottom it out.

From the description alone, that sounds like quite a tangle of scents. And it sounds delicious! I can immediately tell this is going to be a horse-stunner. In the bottle, it's a medicinal blend of cloves and orange and patchouli, with a dash of cinnamon. Stinky. I'm not sure about this. It smells much the same on my skin. The clove and cinnamon and patchouli all blend to make a solid foundation, while the orange skates around on top. This is like a wickedly spiced cider, with a wedge of orange to tart it up. It smells more than a little like ginger beer, and reminds me of the time I tried to drink some of that crap and nearly choked. A nice spicy smell, but not foody in a way you'd ever, ever want to put in your mouth. This is really nice, but it's a little too spicy for me at the outset. I can see using it to punch up something that's just kind of lying there, though, because it's distinctive and powerful. It wears down to an incensey and faint spice finish, and it smells like there's some amber in this, way underneath. Quite pleasant once it's settled down. Doesn't last all that long, though. It starts out powerful, but spends its force quickly. I like it but on me it never seems to decide quite what it wants to do.

This is dirty in the bottle, slightly sweaty with a whiff of cinnamon and a lick of sweetness from the sandalwood. Wow. Powerful stuff. I slip it on, and the cinnamon comes right out at me like a hungry snake. Cinnamon is very hard candy on me, so it has associations of sweetness even if the smell itself isn't sweet. But there's a thick, heavy scent under it, like bark stripped off an old tree, and I'm pretty sure that's the black patchouli. Wow. Okay. I can definitely see wearing this one to boost confidence or energy; it's a vigorous scent. As the cinnamon fades, the patchouli comes out even more and . . . well, I'm not sure about it. Black patchouli smells noticeably different than the regular variety. It's very heavy; there's a hint of corruption in it, like it's been sitting unstirred for a very long time. A sedimental, murky odor that just verges on sweaty. But that scent is what propels this into sexy territory, though. It's walking a damn fine line, there. And isn't that the definition of Sin? Something that's both dirty and delicious? Now, I'm not the biggest fan of cinnamon, but this is defintely a keeper. Because of what the patchouli is doing on my skin, it's an assertive, rough blend. It shoves you up against the wall and gropes your crudely, maybe even painfully, but is giving you the sweetest and most chaste kisses in between. Cocky and devil-may-care, this scent ravishes you marvelously, then leaves you standing there, dazed in the simmery, sweaty-thighed aftermath, only to realize that it's tucked a twenty in your pocket. That little bastard. It's very hot. It ends up soft and warm but not powdery, as the cinnamon and patchouli gives way to the thick amber and sandalwood. After trying it a few times, I can say that this scent does one of two things. If I apply it straight, it's all cinnamon and patchouli, but if I extend it with some fractionated coconut oil the smell opens out and I can detect more of the sandalwood and amber, and it becomes much silkier and more feminine for the duration of its life. If you don't really, really like cinnamon, avoid it, but if a heavily spiced patchouli scent sounds like it might be your thing, give it a try.

Time to add my two dirty pennies to the jar, and review this classic BPAL blend. From the rapturous reviews, I was expecting something very different. This isn't what I'd anticipated at all. It's very spicy and intense. I want to say there's patchouli in here, because it has that same flaky, sharp herbal/incense smell to it. There's a lot of spices all swirled together underneath it. Not cinnamon-y, and not foody, definitely exotic. On, yes, this is pretty. There's vanilla adding some cream to the smell, but not so much that it smells like food. Vanilla usually has a bit of an innocent edge to it, but this doesn't. It's too spiced-up. It's quite sexy, but it isn't too aggressive; yes, this is a scent that draws people in, rather than a scent that sends you out hunting. I will die and go to my grave swearing that this has sassafras in it, because there's something in here that smells like sasparilla. Now I think on't, it makes sense, since sassafras was quite popular in patent "snake oil" medicines during the 19th century. This has a throw that's warm and heady, all spiced vanilla, like sasaparilla or root beer or Coke. Up close, it has a roundness that I think is either almond or sassafras, and a little bit of booze. And between is a fog of spices and incense. Sexy but not smothering, sweet but not cloying, a very intriguing scent that just begs you to come and investigate a little more closely. The longer I wear this, the smoother it gets, and the more I like it. This is a less sweet version of the supersexy musky/spicy/vanilla effect that so many body sprays try and fail to produce, usually because they ruin it with something sharp and nasal like flowers. This one remains un-ruined. The addition of sassafras (I really think it's in there) to the vanilla is a genius touch, because it smells like nothing else and really pins this one down as a signature Lab scent. Snake Oil has been recommended as a substitute for Snake Charmer since Snake Charmer was a Limited Edition. Any similarity I'm noting is very faint. Snake Charmer was sharper, higher-pitched and more nasal, far more traditional, and not nearly as dark, low, and smooth – I actually prefer this blend. It reminds me a little of Morocco and a little of Scherezade, for the spices, but it's definitely its own distinctive thing, and is far throatier than either of those blends. As it wears on the almond gets really aggressive and it ends up smelling very cherry, which is not all that pleasant on my skin. Overall I like it and I'll recommend that people try it, but I don't think I'll order a big bottle.

Ginger? Something nutty, round, and birdseedy that is either almond, sweetgrass, or saffron. It shares this note with The Lion, and is also a bit reminiscent of Morocco. There's an herbal tang to this, almost salty. There's cinnamon. That might be tea leaf. On, it's dry, spicy, woody, and beautiful. The throw smells like the books I buy from a bookstore near my house that burns Nag Champa incense all the time, so there may be a bit of Nag Champa in here. Up close, it smells like a wooden box used to store spices and incense; there's that twang of wood and grass and dry grain that keeps it from being foody. I detect florals, but I'm horrible at picking them out, so I'll just say that they add a soft roundness to the scent without coming out and poking you in the eye. There's something green and herbal in here. Juniper or bay. It's very nice. The weardown is spicy and dry, like windswept grasses smelled through a fold of silk to which the spices of the last town's market still cling. Highly recommended for those who like spicy, exotic, wild scents.

The combination of peach, amber, and patchouli smells a lot like wine and dragon's blood in the bottle. It's aggressively sweet, almost intimidatingly so. It goes on a little incensey as the peach settles down, and then the peach and patchouli really warm up in combination. The amber backlights it subtly. Lovely! The BPAL peach note is truly graceful and sweet, I have loved it in every mix I've smelled it in. Here, the patchouli really dirties it up nicely. While it's wet, I keep getting a faintly mentholated scent, just a very faint hint of cough syrup really close to the skin. I don't know what that is. It's not off-putting, it's just very, very strange. And it goes away as soon as it's dry. How peculiar. Dry, it's a sweet mixture of peaches, amber, and patchouli that is at once simple and luminously deep, a textured, slightly gritty scent that smells the way vintage sepia photographs look – one color, but all full of hidden warmth and light. It ages well, too. The peach prevents it from going powdery, and it keeps its balance right up until final weardown. This is a beautiful scent; not devilish, just a little wicked. Playful and sweet. If you liked the peach in Fae and Aglaea but thought they were a little too sugary for your taste, the earthy incense of Imp might be what you need.

I'm pretty sure that this one isn't going to work on me, but I'll try it nevertheless because, well, I'd love to find a violet that didn't HATE me. I pop the imp open, and I smell . . . violet, rose, and a slight whiff of something else I really can't place. On, the roses come out a little more, but there's that freezerburn blast of violet that hits me with a recoil like a .44. Violet always smells so artificial and cloying once it's on my skin. Dry, it tones down and is really pretty for a couple of minutes until . . . I smell something sour, like mustard. Or . . . yes, that's pickles. What. The hell. Is that about? I smell like my favorite burger joint, if it were staffed entirely by aged nuns. There's a fierce old-lady element to this that just isn't working on my skin. I don't think of violets or roses as being old-lady scents, and on other people maybe this would come across as elegant and a little depraved. On me? Pickles. After a while, the pickles are gone, but it's still incredibly violet and not me in the slightest. You know, this is a fine smell. Nothing wrong with it. I just don't like florals. And they don't like me.

Sharply herbal and green yet sweet floral blend, reminiscent of dried flowers. There's an underscent to this while it's wet that is almost like the unpleasant odor of valerian. A kind of musky smell, and by musky, I mean the way raw animal juice smells. Don't get me wrong, it's not off-putting. It's very well covered, and doesn't throw, it's only there if you nuzzle right up to it. It's a very clean scent otherwise, though, almost soapy. There's probably lavender in here. No surprise, it's a famous soother, as is valerian. There's got to be chamomile in this. It smells just a hair like my sleep tea. Jasmine, too, possibly; though it's not coming to the fore, I can smell something floral in the throw. Also eucalyptus? Citrus? The unpleasant cat-bottom smell has retreated, and I am feeling more relaxed. But, then, getting my BPAL fix always soothes me, so I'm withholding judgement. Less relaxed now that I realize I got oil all over my label! Dammit! My husband thinks it smells like tanning oil. Weirdo. I wore this overnight. I got very sleepy, very comfortably sleepy, quite quickly, without the aid of sleeping pills. Unfortunately, aforementioned husband kept wiggling and tossing and turning and keeping me awake. After I killed him and stashed his body in the basement, I slept like a baby for about six hours, woke up feeling rested, went to the bathroom, and came back in to sleep for another two hours. Had nice dreams, too. If it continues to do this on further experimentation, that would be nifty. Way better than sleeping pills. This is not a smell most people would want to wear as a perfume, since it's rather herbal, but it's quite nice for all that.

The descripition of this scent is more pornographic than some porn I've written. What with all the ranting and raving about this one, I'm curious to see what it turns out to be like. The oil itself is a pretty golden-amber. I open the bottle and . . . let's see . . . oh, my. That honey scent is perfectly true. It doesn't smell like honey, it is honey. I smell the clove, and just a tingle of the vetiver. There might be a little cherry in there. My, this is syrupy. I'm not so sure about it. On my skin, I can close my eyes and see honey melting over bread. The combination of clove and honey and cherry is a lot like chocolate at first. I don't smell the vanilla, but that doesn't mean it's not here . . . more as a general warmth than as a note. There's a rough throatiness to this one that it shares with O, a very sexual, skin-close smell that is quite redolent of the scent of recent sex. And the cherry's there as a kind of candylike, fruity sweetness. Like kissing someone, and getting a nibbled-on chocolate-covered cherry for your pains. A sugar snowball. Naughty, sexy, swollen. Vampiric? I don't know. But I once theorized that if vampires couldn't eat real food, they'd probably come to thoroughly enjoy kissing someone who just had. And that's what this is like. Kissing a randy teenager who's just been having bread and honey. One of you – both of you, now – is wearing cherry lip gloss. There's a little perfume at the nape of the neck, but mostly it's the smell of heat and honey. A thigh-grinding, passionate clinch of a scent, but so sweet you're just sure it has no idea what you're about to do to it. Or maybe it does. There's nothing worse than a sexy young thing who knows the deal, and this is a scent that could have you wrapped around its little finger. It quiets down after a while to a pleasantly spicy clove and vetiver scent that is sort of intellectual and bookish and a little noir, and the sweet backs down a little, into the next room. Still, in case it hasn't hit you yet, this one smells SWEET AND SUGARY out of the gate. If foody, sweet smells aren't your thing, you might want to avoid it. Also, if your chemistry does weird things with honey scents, approach with caution. Bottom line: Like O's tease of a little sister, who pops her cherry bubblegum in your mouth while she goes down on you. Then she hangs out with you in the library for a couple hours, because she's actually a pretty cool little chick. I'm hearing Fiona Apple's "Criminal" in my head, perhaps my most guilty-favorite bad-girl song, with its combination of ersatz sophistication and twitty sullenness. Like a girl playing dress-up with her slutty sister's clothes. This is definitely the scent of a bad, bad girl who "would break a boy, just because she can." Whether she's really bad, or just playing, well, that's up to you.

I've been very excited to try this one ever since reading the description of it. In this, I can smell the smoke and leather right away, buoyed by a rich musk that's just as wet as it is dark. It's a very distinctive, sweet smell, but also quite thickly animal. There's incense back in there, but I can't identify it as more definite than "probably Opium." On, something comes lunging out, sweet and thorny, and I have no idea what that is, but it's divine. The ambergris? The leather is more in the background now, it's more like a chair the scent is lounging in. I definitely smell the tobacco, not quite as fruity as most of the tobacco blends I've tried; it's much more smoky. I think that's the leather. The sweetness is from the musk and the ambergris. Many reviews I have read state that it's a comforting smell, and I can see that. It's not harsh or overtly menacing, but nevertheless, there's something here. . . . This is a room, recently vacated, where refined men have sat planning a terrible thing. The room is upholstered in leather. A thick carpet covers the floor. Long curtains frame a window that looks out on a moonless night's blackness where the only sign of life is one glowing star low on the horizon. Smoke lingers in the air in feathered layers, along with a trace of perfume risen from someone's naked body. A fire smolders sullenly in the hearth, no more than glowing coals. Empty glasses still fumigate the air with the dregs of a good brandy. The scent of incense is old and a little stale, as though the books crammed onto shelf after shelf are slowly exhaling the odor of vanished incense. The room is warm and almost unbearably close, and thick with the smell of bodies gathered in close cabal. This is not the scent of one man, but of several. They were here, not a minute ago. The chair, this gorgeous leather chair, is still warm. It's really are quite comfortable. Sit down and wait. They won't be gone for long. Totally dry, the tobacco mellows out to a sweetness much less harshly smoky than it began, and I can see why it feels so comfortable for so many. This is the reading a book in your dad's leather chair kind of comfortable, but this dad is a dad who isn't necessarily a nice guy. As it softens, it is definitely a scent that women could wear; though it seems quite overtly masculine to me, my husband claims it's feminine. This indicates to me that it just smells flat-out sexy. It doesn't have too much throw, but it's strong close-in, and it's very long wearing – even a shower and several handwashings failed to dislodge it. Overall, it's beautifully constructed: sophisticated, deep, and precise. It's subtly sexy and quite powerfully physical without being overt or lewd in the slightest. This is not a wild, feral scent, untamed and lusty. This is civilized, couth, and utterly patient; traits that pass as polite but scream danger to anyone who knows what they're really dealing with. This is not the corruption of the wilds, but the decadence and decay of the civilized. All the worst that mankind has to offer, dressed up in the best. Cheers, my lovelies. This one's for you.

Oh my god, words can't describe how beautiful Aglaea is. Splendour, indeed. Raw, this is pure peach candy with a draft of sweet floral and a zing of musk laid over it. Once it goes on, it warms up to a sticky-sweet amber with a throaty peach throw that is so delightful and syrupy that I don't for a minute regret smelling like food. This is a thick, luscious, drinkable smell that I could lie in for hours. Like a perfect note of song. Glorious and resplendent and golden. It comes in with a bang but quiets down a lot, and is a very close-in smell, like all ambers tend to be on me. It's peach-tinted amber, almost pure, with no hint of the floral, and though I applied it twice, it's still very, very light. And still so very beautiful and warm. I love this smell. I love it all to pieces. It is so very sweet-tempered, and almost heartbreakingly beautiful. Indescribable. Elevating. Even on extreme drydown it doesn't go powdery, and it stays light and sweet. I don't see it being masculine at all, but if you're a brave man, it's there in case you want to smell utterly lickable. This reminds me strongly of Fae, only as lovely as Fae was, this is better in every way. A perfect match with my skin. Stay away if you don't want to smell like peaches, and stay away if you can't wear amber, but if this even remotely sounds like it might be your thing, try it. Delightful!

"The rich scent of wild blackberry breezing over gentle rosy heather." In the bottle, something rainy and clean, and . . . roses? Soft little roses. There's a sweet punch to it, but I can't identify what that is. This is floral on, but since I don't know what heather smells like . . . yeah, have I said I'm bad with florals? I can pick you a grain of musk or amber out of a sandbox, but florals are just written in a smell-language I don't share. I'm not getting any blackberry from it, just a soft, powdery, fuzzy floral that is pleasant enough and reminds me very strongly of something I can't quite place. It doesn't change much. I like it, but it's not blowing me over, and it's very powdery and dry. In the bottle it's nothing like, but on my skin it smells quite a bit like Zombi without the delicious wetness and the thick rose that make that scent so agreeable. Also smells a bit like Old Scratch wound up smelling on one of my "off" days. It's not bad, but I have a feeling that it's just not formulated for my chemistry, and isn't doing what it's supposed to on me.

This is supposed to be one of the Lab classics. I don't know if I can wear it, though . . . the lily of the valley, the mandarin . . . this could go soapy. Sweet and bright in the bottle, I detect the mandarin as a tart note that isn't overwhelmingly citrusy, and the lily is a fresh floral floating on top of everything. This is a light, liquid scent, with a zest to it, like champagne. I can smell the incense, but it's not very forward. On . . . oh, wow. Wow. Very old-fashioned and traditional, but very refined and elegant, too. Beautiful and poised, rather than grandmotherly. A brilliant gold and white scent. There's incense here, but it's not smoky or resinous, it's just a pure perfume scent. That familiar note must be the opium. It smells deliciously like the perfume racks at my local new age bookstore: a heady blend of many perfumes all mixed into one. I don't smell the vanilla at all. Once it dries, the vanilla's there as a smooth note twined up with the opium and, faintly, the sandalwood. The mandarin has quieted a little, and the lily is still just shy and pretty off in the background. This isn't sinful enough for me to call it decadent, it's just rich. This perfume smells expensive and reeks (if you'll pardon the phrase) of good taste. They don't share many notes, but something in this really reminds me strongly of Snake Charmer, only this is much smoother and silkier.

When I open this, I smell . . . citrus?! The sandalwood is so sweet and light, not heavy at all. This is a bright smell. I smell the roses underneath: crisp, fruity little roses. The patchouli is a rough note underneath, but not so pronounced. I still can't decide why I'm smelling the white part of orange peel. On, I'll be damned if there is not orange in it. Neroli, maybe? It's delicious, though. Wonderfully cool and deep. The throw is intriguing . . . clean resinous incense, without the smoky rasp. And a hint of rose. Oh, yes, yes, this is wonderful at a distance. Very much. And it's very clean which I would not have expected from a patchouli scent, which are usually very dirty and rough on me. I don't know if this is a new green patchouli or what, but it's wonderful and just a little herbal. And a little soapy, but in a handmade soap sort of way that's nice. As it dries, it gets less orangey and becomes a powdery rose/patchouli/spice, like a very clean cat that's just rolled in fragrant temple dust. Speaking of which, my primary cat seems to like this one a lot – she keeps licking it, then making faces, then licking it, then making faces. I had to stop her because, seriously, that freaking tickles. Shapeshifting? You bet. Just try to pin this one down. Now you smell one thing, now you smell another. An incredible feat of the perfumer's art, because it not only smells different moment to moment, but depending on how far it is from your face.

When I ease the tester open, the thick smell of expensive leather comes wafting up, a soft-sweet and smoky aroma. At first sniff, this isn't smooth store leather, this is hard briefcase leather, crisp and shiny. It's not a leather store smell. It's a leather belt smell. Lusty, lusty leather. I apply it sparingly, since leather is almost overpowering on my skin. One dab, rubbed between both wrists, and suddenly I'm surrounded by a halo of the scent, which unfolds like a heavy black leather coat. It goes from a hard and shiny scent to a thick, hot, tight smell that is threatening and yet soft, like low-hanging clouds. There's so much warmth in this, and a dry brush of something else, something smoky almost like charcoal. It's dangerous, it's not subtle, and it's profoundly forward. Sargon, my husband, comes in and the first words out of his mouth are "That smells great." And it does. This isn't a new leather smell, it's a smell that's been broken in but not worn out, dirtied up a few times but cleaned well in between. This smell has been around, it's seen use, my darlings. It smells like a very fine but well-worn glove; you can almost hear the creak of the leather as this hand closes over your nose and mouth, stifling you. You can smell it, smell him, leather and a breath of smoke, the skin-smell of worn leather flush with body oil and just a little sweat. Slick, leather-clad fingers force their way into your mouth, across your tongue. You taste the leather as you breathe, back in your throat. They slip out, slide across to the back of your neck where a firm and merciless grip pushes you, pushes you down. And De Sade is a deceptive bastard. He has throw, even though you might not think it for such a low-toned scent. The whipcrack can hit you from ten, fifteen feet away. And though he mellows as the night wears, even at the last he still glares at you with those great, hollow eyes from the leather chair in the corner, and those eyes say he knows just how to bend you to his will. And it doesn't get any better than that. Not for the faint of heart, or the faint of loins.

I can't smell anything but roses in the bottle, wet red ones. On, it warms up to a rose like the rosewood in Old Scratch, which is spicy, or Rose Red in that it's very saturated and juicy. But where is the leather? Hellooo? Leather? I have this problem -- my skin latches on to rose notes and pushes them aggressively, and this is no exception. My, this rose is strong and boozy, and the longer it's on, the boozier it gets! This is a smell that'll climb right up your arm, and it has a glorious throw, more like a halo. Very beautiful, but even after an hour there is still no leather. I can tell the leather is hiding in there, and as the scent wears there is a nebulous darkness that rises, like roses left in ink slowly soaking up the black, but it never comes right out and shows itself. It's just sort of subtly there. I'm devastated by the failure of the leather to appear. I have other rose perfumes I love whose notes do show, so that means this won't make my top ten list. I'll try mixing it with De Sade, certainly, to get the effect I wish it'd had. This is still a very sexual rose smell, and one with enough bite that I could even see a man wearing it. I just really wish I could smell the leather!

Just looking at the ingredients in this one makes me wobbly. There's nothing in here to go foul. I pop the bottle, and oh, holy Asherah, this is some sexy, sexy stuff! Roses and musk. It's sweet, but not a candylike, girlish smell, though. It's thick and dark and womanly. The oil itself is so dark brown it's nearly black. On, it's amazing. The roses and musk blend perfectly, neither overwhelms the other, so it's like one smooth smell. Together they're a lot like the Lab's wine note, but without that awful grape wet phase that wine sometimes goes through. The rose is like the dirty rose that's in Zombi. I love it. The musk is red musk, so it's hot and soft and buoyant. Of all the musks, red musk is the biggest on my skin; it hits my body heat and just expands. Rose does the same thing, so combining them . . . genius. It really, really works. The throw is fierce: my husband tells me he can smell it two rooms away, so apply with caution. Wearing down, it hardly changes at all on me. It's very stable and long-lasting. The sweet fruity note dies back a little, but it's still exactly the same smell. I never get a clear amber note out of this, just a sort of general underlying warmth, influencing the musk more than the rose. It also lasts all night. I put it on at three, and this was still going strong at eight, even through a couple of handwashings. A heady, powerful scent.

Hmm. Oh, my! This is sweetly berry/floral without being cloying. It's slightly peppery – I can definitely smell the carnation. I like it! Quite refreshing! I can't really wear florals, though, so let's see if it's repulsive on. Oh my goodness. The carnation comes leaping right out, and the amber is a rough blast of golden warmth. It eats the berries and worries at the heliotrope. This is nice, but very strong and almost harsh. And there's an aggressively powdery note to it that might be a dealbreaker if it persists. Yes, now it smells like makeup taken off with baby oil. That's . . . icky. This is really beautiful at first, but then it just gets dirty, and not in a good way. On extreme drydown it's almost tolerable, and just becomes a sort of pleasant carnation scent. Sadly, this isn't what I'm looking for, so out it goes.

In the bottle, it's sweet musk and vanilla with lots of resinous overtones – the ambrette and benzoin, maybe. On, oh my God. It's just a warm golden smell that has no discernible notes. The blend is very unified and smooth. Sheer delight. I can smell the coconut and the vanilla, but they aren't dominant, they're only influencing the overall tone; it's not foody in the slightest. The amber and resins are simply divine. This is a very close, warm smell, a body smell that is not overtly sexy to me, but rather sensual. At the same time, there's something in this that is just a hair high-pitched for me that gives it a sharpness like a snake's tooth. Beautiful, with just a little bit of bite.

On first sniff immediately after receipt, my friend and I agreed that this smells like Ny-Quil. This alone was horrible enough to keep me from trying it for quite a while. Clearly, I had been sniffing too many fumes, for once I decided to brave it I loved it. In the bottle I smell a licorice-sweet blend spiked with mint and a dash of thin and pungent herbs. I must try it on. The anise and fennel in absinthe is what smells like licorice; in this blend it expands to an herbal scent, not candylike at all, then it draws aside like a veil to let the rest of the perfume through. There is a scent here like mums or marigolds, peppery and pungent and wild, and greenly herbal. Bruised and torn mint. A close whisper of lemon, citric but not candylike. This is medicinal, fumigatory, dry and a little sour. Dry, it's very, very nice. A cool, sweet herbal that absolutely does not smell perfumey. It's also very light and clean. I love it, and I don't particularly like licorice (though those who are strongly averse to the smell of it should probably avoid this blend). Even on extreme weardown this remains fresh, green, and moist, and never goes powdery. Huzzah! People? Try the smells you hate in the bottle. Delightful!

I have no idea what osmanthus is, so research is called for. It sounds like a flower, and it looks like I'm right. Osmanthus is the blossom of the tea olive, Osmanthus fragrans. The extract is very expensive, and prized in perfumery for its delicate fruity-floral scent, reminiscent of apricot. It is, as the name suggests, popularly used as a scent in oriental tea blends. So, what does it actually smell like? In the bottle, this is floral, pale, and light, all flowers and musk. Very pretty, a bit cold. The florals are juicy, crisp, and still a bit green, as if picked before their time. Something in this reminds me of a glossy-leaved flowering shrub that grew on the south side of the house where I grew up. We never knew what it was, but upon looking for pictures of Osmanthus plants, I believe that we have a winner. How interesting! Only here, the scent merges with the lilies and the musk so instead of being sweet and warm, it's cool and white, like a moonlit garden. It dries fruity, musky, and pale, with the lilies breathing a cool white floral over all of it. A very restrained scent, intriguing but not arresting, lovely but not sexy. Indeed, cool and remote, just as the description says. Like all flowers, it goes powdery, but until then it's nice. Not arresting, but serene and still. A background scent, like shadows outside the window.

In the bottle, light, sweet, and fruity with the scent of apples. While it's wet, this smells a lot like my grandmother's perfume. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, I always liked the scent, I'm just amused at the resemblance. This is a very crisp, wet scent, and very traditionally perfume-y without being unpleasant. I'm bad with florals, but I'm pretty sure that cool white flower note is the jasmine, together with sandalwood's sweetness and myrrh's faint warmth. The quince/apple peel comes out in a fruity roundness that fills the scent out without making it foody. The musk isn't detectable to my nose, but it never really is. I can smell its influence, though, as a sort of radiant, candle-like warmth smoothing all the other scents together. This is an expert blend in which nothing really predominates, and for someone searching for a perfume that's very traditional yet not utterly repulsive or commercial, this would be an excellent choice. Sweet and cool. It's floral, so it goes powdery on me, but without lavender or violet, it's not baby powder, it's just a perfumed talc sort of smell. On someone whose skin appreciated florals, this would be great.

Hmm. On one hand: honey, amber, sandalwood, vanilla. On the other: flowers. This could go either way on me, really. I brace myself for the worst. In the bottle, this is sandalwood and flowers. On, it becomes a floral medley in which no one note dominates. I don't smell the roses as roses. There's a flower here, though, that is so beautiful I can't even describe it. Either the champaca or the davana; whichever it is, it's just lovely. This is the scent of warm half-wild gardens with a breath of sweet incense. Radiant sunlight lances down through the foliage. The honey hasn't come out to rasp at me; it's usually a very forward note. So far, I'm liking this one the best of all the Lupercalia blends. I don't know if it's my favorite, but this is maybe the most beautifully-constructed BPAL scent I've tried yet. The vanilla mixes with the flowers and the amber to give this a white-gold warmth unlike anything I have ever smelled. It is truly heartbreakingly beautiful. Delicate and lyrical, perfect. I'd go on about it, but really, I'm beggared for words. A scent so beautiful it will haunt my dreams.

This is a very soft rose scent, nothing else but roses in the bottle. On, the blast of rose is immediately reined in by a cloud of crystalline resins – I think that's myrrh, but I can't be certain. Simply lovely. There's a sharp tang to this while it's wet that I rather like; it's almost briny. When it settles down, it's soft, romantic, and well-balanced between floral and incensey, with the roses pulling just slightly ahead. It's not an overpowering blend, and for a rose scent is fairly subtle. This rose is delicate, like a veil. It reminds me of curling up on embroidered cushions on the porch, watching the tree-shadows dance, and listening to the birds sing while my lover sits quietly nearby. Romantic, but not in a sexual way. Very fine and refined. I prefer my scents a bit dirtier, but this is beautiful.