Naamah_Darling

This is thickly masculine in the bottle, a balsamic, juniper smell with just a hint of sweetness. When I put it on, it unfolds into a landscape of scent. In the hills scattered with olive and scrubby juniper, with reaching cedars, the sap is rising. A few weeks from now, the meadows will be thick with bees. My clothing is saturated with the scent of candles and incense and musky perfume, now blown by the fresh wind. I can smell the spring coming; the smell of it settles over the land first, like a mood. The sun is high and white. It's actually lighter than I expected, it's not nearly as powerful as it could have been. I was expecting something raunchy and virile; this is masculine and wild, outdoorsy, but just a little wary. Springtimey; the patchouli is the scent of the awakening earth, greened with juniper and oakmoss. I expected more sweetness from the beeswax and the honey, but it's not sweet so much as it is herbal and earthy. It gentles a lot as it dries, becomes more golden musk and beeswax, a warm skin smell that just flirts around the edges of sexual. This is a much more refined scent than I was expecting, but like a wild animal lying by the hearth with the scent of the wild still in its fur, one should not mistake it for something wholly tame. It's warm, it's pleasant, and it's letting you pet it, but it could get up and leave, or bite the crap out of you, at any moment. Sadly, then it goes all powdery, and that's always a dealbreaker for me. I wish I knew what was doing that. I'm going to turn this one over to Sargon, the husband, as the opening phase of it is lovely.

My! Caramel coconut! This smells lickable in the bottle. The longer I smell it, the more depth I detect – a little incense, some spice way down in there. I slap it on and oh, God, this is a smell I just want to loll around in. Sweet and golden and melting. I've learned; that first flash of a scent after it goes on, that's where I get made or broken, that's when love happens, when everything is still wet and volatile. Here, the opium is clear and bright in the background, along with something floral but wet. It's all drizzled with caramel, though. Enough so that this scent is primarily foody. I suspect that's my chemistry latching onto one note. This ends up smelling very much like Miskatonic University did on me, only instead of fading, the caramel smell sticks around and sort of lazes in the background, while the opium and the tobacco and the spice play around on top of it, like dirty little fingertips. It's a womanly smell, a warm, sated smell, like a nice fat wench who's just made you buy her dessert, and is now licking her lips and looking at you out of her slightly feline eyes like you're maybe next. In its own way, it's very me. This is just scrumptious, and I'm feeling real pain at the sad thought that my poor noseblind husband isn't going to get the subtlety of it.

I'm just rabid to try this one. Come on. SMUT. I do it, I look it, I talk it, I write it; it's about time I smelled like it. I guess we'll find out if it's musk that gives me a headache. It has a sweet, fuzzy, almost root-beery smell in the bottle. Musk, definitely. And it's almost . . . winey. Very, very sweet. On, WHOA, that'll knock you back a step. The musk is strong enough on that it opened up my sinuses. The throw smells sweet, like vanilla Coke, but up close it's this wonderful thick, dark musk. It's much less sweet on than it was in the bottle, but it is still a little syrupy. As it dries, I'm starting to smell something smoky, like whiskey. It's nice. Totally dry, it becomes a swirly mix of musk and booze that is nothing like you think. It's very sexual and sexy, smells like the morning after a drunken night of club-hopping, followed by a one-night-stand, before you have cleaned the sheets. Not a complicated scent, but a nice one. It's similar to Snake Oil in a lot of ways, but minus the odd sassafras note. This one lasts a long time and was quite stable on my skin. And no headache, either.

This is one of the scents whose description prompted me to make my first sample order. I have really high expectations of this one. Let me try to make sense of what I'm smelling in the bottle. Hmm. Sweet and fruity the way dragon's blood always smells fruity to me in the bottle. Dragon's blood is not listed, so this may be the wine. If it is, there's not so much of it that it smells grape-y like it does in other blends. This scent is very cool, though; not warm at all. I smell the ozone in it as a high-pitched whine, and there's maybe a hint of sandalwood in the slight sweetness of it. I rub it in and whoa! Hellooo there! I just got a faceful of hard, smoky man-muscle! This is a very grown-up, very masculine scent on me. I smell the burnt grass, and a polished, woody smell that reminds me strongly of the library scent in Miskatonic University. The wine is gone. No leather yet, but that's probably for the best. We all know how it makes me lose control over my lady bits. If I wait a while, the leather comes out at last, faintly, faintly. This is like Tintagel after the feast is gone and the land has gone barren with war. Masculine, dry, not foody at all. Not aggressive, either, but not a smell you'd want to screw with in an alley. Or maybe you would. Maybe you like uncommunicative, dangerous men. Dry, an hour or so later, I can smell the wine again. It's less smoky and more sexy. The armor comes off. On second try it was winey straight off, which threw me, and also very woody/burnt. It dried to a powdery finish. Not quite as nice. I'll have to go for a tiebreaker at some point, but this one is so complex and evanescent and mutable that it will probably shift a lot with my chemistry. There is something very lonely and sad about this smell; probably that it's smoky and winy but not warm, which both of those things usually are.

This was a freebie I got a while back, and have hesitated to try because, well, violets. Violets and I just don't get along. I open the bottle and sniff: sure enough, they're big, juicy violets! Ah, hell. Violets hate me. But I'll try it anyway, because I love the smell so much in the bottle that I want to believe it'll work. On: Juicy violets with knives, stabbing me in the sinuses! They dance about on my body, blowing soap bubbles, singing Hallelujah! This is so very beautiful and very womanly, and very pleasant, and on someone else, it might even have some subtlety. But the soap thing . . . yeah. Not going to work. Damn. Damn, damn damn damn. I keep hoping beyond hope that I'll find a violet scent that doesn't do this. I love violets, I love how they smell, but they just don't work on me. Curses!

I'm scared this will be one I can't actually wear because of the lavender. Still, nothing ventured. . . . When I pop the top, I get a strong sniff of something almost gingery. Wow! But on second sniff, this proves to be patchouli under a strong lavender base. There's a whiff of something soft and warm under the freshness which must be the tonka. Quite masculine. I like this a LOT in the bottle! I put it on, and in less than five seconds, POW, out comes the amber and the tonka and a rosy smell which must be rosewood, even though I thought rosewood wouldn't smell like roses, but like lacquered wood. Hunh. My bad. The patchouli is there underneath and oh, god, the throw is vanilla/amber/rose! I totally wasn't expecting this. Oh, my. My, my, my. It's definitely gender neutral at this point. Very seductive, but also adult and old-fashioned. Inviting, like an androgynously gorgeous person asking you out on a date, and you go out expecting to be picked up in a really normal if expensive sedan and instead find a freaking four-horse calash with all the bells and whistles. Dry, it's very amber/rosy, with a dry and dirty flash of the oakmoss or whatever goes into bottoming a fougere ("bottoming a fougere" sounds like a really depraved sex act, by the way). The androgynously gorgeous being now has you in the limo and is fondling your thigh while whispering lewdness in your ear. There are roses inside the carriage. And those are some mightily talented hands. This ends up powdery and earthy, but it's not the usual vile baby-powder smell that lavender turns into on my skin. The patchouli and amber keep this a warm scent, a skin-scent, that is meatier than it is clean. I was expecting something else . . . I don't know what. But this is a warm, friendly scent; very, very sexy. This is the devil you know, in the Biblical sense of the word. Very, very nice.

On sniff-loan from a friend, I'm trying this because I love it in the bottle. We'll see if it goes yuck on my skin. At first sniff before I put it on, its very dark and heavy, a peppery blend of musk and fir with a dash of mint to cool it (though it is NOT a minty smell) and just a whisper of something sweet – clove or orange, it's actually hard to say. Pleasant, dark. It's a trifle more manly than girly, though overall it seems quite balanced in terms of gender. On, the spice comes up through the fir – cloves and mint, with a smoky breath of tobacco leaf. The musk is swirling around everything. This really is delightful, but it's a very "stinky" scent. It's not at all clean or refined or genteel. It's rather assertive and messy. I hate piney/woodsy scents, but thankfully the fir is not overwhelming, and really complements instead of dominates. The throw is cloves and tobacco, a rich smoky smell not like a campfire but like a chair next to a hearth where someone smokes. As it dries it smooths out to a much more genteel and very masculine odor, an expert blend in which no one note dominates. This one has a lot of character. And it's very sexy. I don't know why this should surprise me, but it's . . . mmm! This has been called Hellfire's evil cousin. I'd agree. If Hellfire is a room where wicked men have recently sat in close cabal, then Dracul is the scent of one of those men.

Having heard so much about this one, I'm quite excited to try it. It sounds like a good match for my personality, and contains a lot of notes I love. Raw out of the bottle, it's a meaty leather scent rubbed with the sweetness of musk, and a fog of smoke that must be the myrrh. Intense, arousing, and dangerous. On the skin, this is so intensely sexual I want to back away from it. There's a strong scent of burning here which is truly disturbing at first. It is a merciless scent, harsh and unyielding. And as it dries, oh, the myrrh and amber come up and it's a fragrant smoky smell all wrapped in leather. There's a sweetness in it from the musk and the leather, but this is not a sweet smell. For a while I am not at all certain I have the fortitude to wear this. Oh, who am I kidding? There'll be days when I will live in it. A perilous, dangerous, balls-out scent that is far less feminine than it is sheerly predatory, this is a blend I will wear with great pleasure. Beautiful and deadly.

In the bottle: almonds and honey! It's a mistake to say that it smells like milk, which actually has a faintly sour, rather disagreeable odor. What Shee does smell like is the perfume scent used to make things like conditioners or lotions smell "creamy." I don't know what exactly goes into that, but I suspect a mix of almonds and light vanilla. There's a breath of honey, for that sticky-sweet burr, and just the barest little tendril of green grains and grasses growing over there in the distance. For all that, this isn't an overwhelming scent. It doesn't have much throw and stays close to the skin, which honey scents tend to do on me. It's very light and very sweet, and not floral in the slightest. It's a foody smell, but one that's mild enough that it doesn't distract. The waft as it warms is reminiscent of cake or sweet bread. It's quite pleasant, very homey and comforting. An open kitchen on baking day. There's a bare pink hint of something ripely fruity in it, like cherries, which must be the almond extract. Completely inoffensive, with no overtly sexual edge whatsoever. Because this is so mild and to me asexual I doubt I'll wear it much, but it is an amazing scent, and for those who like sweet/foody/almondy scents, I couldn't recommend better.

I love the smell of roses, but am not always fond of rose perfumes which too often lose their delicacy on me and become either overpowering, or powdery, or both, so it is with some trepidation that I try this, said to be the ultimate rose scent, the scent that sends rose lovers into spasms of leaking ecstasy and converts non-believers into fanatics with a single sniff. That's a heck of a rep for any blend to live up to. In the bottle this is green – a rose still on the bush, heavy with sap. It's crisp, the taste of a fresh rose between the teeth. On, it becomes an incredibly true rose scent. There is a hint of something round and fruity in the throw, a berry perhaps, but it is very faint. There is also a whiff of something that's probably fern or oakmoss – an earthy base note like potting soil. Yes, this smells similar to Zombi, but the earthy scent is not overpowering – it's just a hint – and Zombi's rose was very heavy and large – this is a crisper, smaller rose. Wet, it's very rich – so heady it's almost boozy. Dry, the earthy smell has receded, leaving only this clean, clear rose smell that really can't be described. It doesn't last long on me, but that's all right. When I was a teenager, I had a cheap bottle of rose-scented oil I bought for, like, four dollars at a candle store. It turned out to be one of the truest pink/red rose scents I've ever smelled, and I kept it for years because I couldn't find anything else quite as faithful. This smells similar, only a hundred times better. Unparalleled, romantic, delightful, delicate.

In the bottle, Goneril is light, bright, cold and almost metallic. It's a floral, but it's not sweet or close. There's a hint of green here that smells like bruised leaves. It's well-blended, and I'm not familiar enough with geranium, lily, or orchid to tell which scent is which. I don't really smell the cedar, though I think that's where the metallic smell is coming from. On, the cedar lays hold of something – the geranium, perhaps – and wrestles with it. It's alternating cool floral with a harsh blast of what almost smells like evergreen or juniper. That must be the cedar. Drying, a smell comes out, delicious and dark, that's almost like the turned-earth smell in Zombi. It's a thick, cool floral, and from what others have said, I'm guessing this is the lily. When I say this is a grave scent, I mean that in both senses of the word. This is the solemn yet lovely smell of funeral flowers. The throw is wonderful – floral without being soapy or geriatric, making it one of the rare florals I can actually wear. I can see how it wouldn't be for everyone – there is an aggressive touch to these florals, perhaps the geranium, that won't sit down and behave, and that combined with the cedar borders on high-end hand soap/bug spray at times. My chemistry is not enough to turn it rotten, but this is a very delicately balanced scent that always smells like it's just about to go bad. It fades fast, though, to a generic sort of wispy floral, and it is overall not earthy or sexy enough for me to wear, despite the dark streak running through the middle of it. I like it. I won't wear it much, but I'll hang on to the imp. Very nice.

My god, this is so light it's barely even there! Faint green herbs, a very faintly citric (but not sharp) floral. Not foody or soapy in the least: just clean and soft and sunlit, like clean laundry left to dry outside near an herb garden, or the smell of just-cut verbena. If I wait and sniff patiently, way underneath there's a purr of something darker – just a whiff of the patchouli. On it goes. Warm, the floral comes out, a scent like the white part of an orange rind, neither pulp nor peel. The herbal smell is still there: a clean, springtime-y smell like gentle sunshine and dappled shade. This is a smell I'd expect to find in a soap. In fact, the waft is quite soapy. But this isn't cheap soap – this is those tiny designer hand soaps they sell for $6 each at snotty upper-class bath boutiques. As it dries, it smells more like a perfume as the citrus-fresh smell tones down a bit. The blend is thorough – it's very hard to pin down exact notes. I am getting just a whiff of something deliciously earthy and warm, though it's impossible to target any one scent. I pretty definitely smell the musk, and I think that fuzzy burr is patchouli, but it's not a red/black patchouli. It's very young and green. Totally dry, there's some amber here, but it's very much an undertone, and not enough to warm this blend up or give it the fleshy base note that I love so much in amber perfumes. Most of this is very citric and sort of sharp. It gets stronger the longer it's on, and it's almost like I can taste the smell, now. With a smell that was a very "me" scent I'd like this effect, but though I like this smell, it doesn't really grab me as a "me" smell. Overall, this is a simply delightful "clean" scent with just enough underpinning to keep it from wandering off into soapy territory. If you're a fan of light, clean, springtimey smells, this is a wonderful choice. It's not for me, so I'll swap it, but it is truly beautiful. And, yes, gentlemen, this is a unisex scent. On a man I could see this being quite nice.

I will now be calling this the "cheese shop" scent, because it's so CLEAN. In the bottle, this is sharply blue-purple floral and very perfume-y. I know to expect violets because of what I've been told, but this is a blasting, freezerburned, artificial floral sort of smell, and I can't make heads or tails of it. It's very heady and nasal and . . . sterile. So I put it on. Oh, dear, dear, dear. No, smell, don't do that. Please don't . . . NO, SMELL, THAT'S A BAD SMELL!!! Close in it's a bright, soapy floral. It's very artificial, which is interesting. And it's all about the violets. And me and violets, we don't agree. We had a bad run in over Nocturne, and ever since then, we haven't seen eye to eye. It seems to think I need to clean up my act and smell like my grandmother's bathroom. The raft of scent drifting out from my rigidly extended wrists is where this perfume really shines. Wet, the waft smells like . . . err . . . umm . . . please forgive me, but it smells like a jumbo box of deodorant tampons. Which, you know, is exactly the sort of image that makes me sit up and say "HEY, I know! Let's get SEXY!" It moves in and out of this aggressively chemical/flower smell for me, which I think is not the perfume shifting, but is my nose getting used to and then un-used to the violet smell. This is one perfume that is long-wearing and does not change much as it dries down, since the different notes decline steadily and simultaneously. After three washes, it has faded. Now it smells like babies. Clean, powdered, soapy babies. This is a more pleasant odor than the laser-guided tampon smell, but I would rather smell like tampons than like babies. I realize this has been a very unflattering review, for which I apologize. I actually very much like the smell in the bottle, and I'd like it on someone else just fine, but I don't think I can wear it because my skin turns anything with violets in it to cheap soap and baby powder. It breaks my heart, but I'll be going back to Zombi just to get the taste out of my mouth. Rub some funk on it!

Bottled, this is sweet, sweet, sweet. I don't know why, but though I love the smell of dragon's blood as an incense, in raw perfume I don't like it. It comes across as pure sugar. I'm pretty sure I smell the bayberry and the wine, too, fruity and bright. And there's a yellow-green lash of juniper in this that just – only just – takes the sick out of the sweet. By now I've learned never ever to judge a dragon's blood scent in the bottle, so on it goes. Once I put it on, the dragon's blood fumes to its usual resinous darkness, smoky and enchanting. The juniper breezes over, and blends with the smell of may thorns and the the smell of fallen leaves to form an autumn haze. This is a fascinating scent! A little sweet, a little floral, with a smoky fog in the rafters and a rustle of herbs and dry leaves on the floor. Gorgeous. A box where all kinds of interesting old things have been kept. Everyone says they smell cinnamon in this but I don't smell it except in little sniffs where I think I smell some generic spice – cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves. It's oddly hard to distinguish the spicy prickle from the sweetened zing of the juniper plus florals. As it heats up, there's leather. Just a brush of it, but it's in there. And it's lingering. Oh, God, I think on a man, the right man, this would be devastating. God. I think it's devastating on me. I'm honestly having trouble breathing. Or typing coherently. This is easily the most complex scent I've sampled yet. There is no way you could get bored sniffing it. It's like a walk through a medieval castle without all the bad breath and dogs and lice. This is an idealized scent for an idealized myth. I smell like I've been outside all day during an autumn feast. This is crisp and warm and so very enticing. Ah! Oh, hold me down and ravish me, this is positively divine.

In the bottle, this pinkish-gold perfume is spicy, clean, floral. It's carnation-peppery, lively, and sweet without being sugary. I like it a lot. Fresh on the skin, it blooms to something hot and dry. It's floral, but these aren't sweet flowers, they're hot and slightly metallic. This combination gives it a fiery smell. Not a smoke-smell, but the dry and arid smell of actual fire. Hot metal. At the same time, perversely, it's a very clean smell. The throw is heavenly but faint. There's not a lot of base to this, it's all bright topnotes. It's a bit powdery, which is at odds with the sharply peppery note. As it fades, it loses its peppery distinction on me and becomes rather unremarkably perfume-y. Floral and rather soapy. I'll certainly give it another try or two, but I think I can say that this one didn't end up as remarkable as it began.

In the bottle: butter and toffee/coffee/caramel. Very, very foody. Alarmingly foody. But delicious. I feel obligated to point out that I do not drink coffee, but I find the smell of it simply divine. Thankfully once it hits my skin the coffee roasts down to a toasty warm smell, and I don't smell quite so much like caramel. I smell like a chocolate-covered coffee bean. Hmmm. Interesting, but, again, do I want to smell like this? Dry: DUST. I smell a puff of dust. The coffee smell has a little whiskey to it, now that it's toned down. I smell faint dust and wood. How on earth does Beth get these smells in a bottle? I smell like I pulled an all-nighter in my dad's library. After several hours, the smell is staying put very well. The violently sweet note in the coffee has gone, and left only the roasted, almost chocolatey smell, along with a whiff of wood polish. You wouldn't think that combination would be an appealing scent for a perfume oil, but it is. At the extreme of its weardown, it has a warm pelt sort of smell, like a cat that's been lying in the sun. This is a warm, comforting scent that loses a lot of its foodiness, but not its depth, as it dries. I like it a lot. Very much a smell for sitting quietly and studying. I'll be hoarding my store of it, since it was a limited edition and no more is being made. It is also, incidentally, only the second scent Tazendra has deigned to notice. She licked at it rather desultorily while it was wet. In any other cat, this would translate to cartwheels of delight.

In the bottle, a mouthwatering and succulent honey-smell, chased with vanilla and amber. Utterly tempting. Yes, this actually does smell like honey, that slightly grainy purr, thick and dark. The amber just unfolds once it hits the skin, unravelling into a glorious, warm scent, with the honey melting off it, hot and soft. I'm reminded very strongly of vanilla beeswax candles, but this is not a cheap air-freshener vanilla scent, this is a rich, darkly golden vanilla that is crushed and herbal, not too highly refined. This isn't a perfumey scent. It's personal, subtle, sexual; a close, mammalian, skin-smell. Like the smell of sex you can't ever quite wash off your fingers. The smell of a woman comfortable in her own skin, where there is no good or evil applied to pleasure. It's sweet, undeniably, but there's that smoky rasp to it from the amber that keeps it from being cloying. This is innocence, yes, but it's not the untouched kind – this is innocence lying sweaty and trembling, slippery and dewy, wondering what the hell just happened. This is so pure, so pefectly its own, that it just doesn't understand the concept of degradation, so no matter how you bend it it remains unsullied. This is sin, and wanting to do it again. It dries smooth. The vanilla and honey slowly and steadily fade, leaving the slightly musky amber. This is a very fleshy amber, too, almost dirty. I don't know how else to put it. It smells like sex. Undeniably one of the most sensual smells I've tried yet. And, no, that's not just the fact that Story of O is one of my best-loved books talking. It really is that good.

In the bottle, fruity and delightful, a sunlit combination of peach, bergamot (a jaunty citrus smell), and a flower that must be heliotrope. On the skin, the musk warms up and underscores it with a delightful sweet and velvety note . . . like fruits and flowers laid on a velvet cloth. This is both citrusy and floral; I don't enjoy citrus or floral smells all that much, but the combination is lively without being overpowering. This is an edible, hard-candy smell, but not so foody that I find it off-putting. Like a sour peach candy. Tart and wicked. Dry, it's toned down to . . . wow. It's smooth and bright, like sunlight through white curtains, or walking through an orchard on a windy, bright day. The citrus is no longer quite so strong, and the overall smell is one of peaches and musk. I think it's the oakmoss mixing with something else, but there's almost a vanilla smell here – very faint, but that same kind of low-key richness. This wears down more or less without changing, which I like. It doesn't go sour, it doesn't go powdery, it doesn't go soapy. Delightful, sunny, and warmhearted, an utterly beguiling scent that is so damn cheerful I'm not entirely sure I could wear it without suffering from irony poison. Nevertheless, I really like this. A lot.

In the bottle this reeks of cheap roses and grape Kool-Aid. But because I have learned not to judge things that smell too sweet until they are actually on my skin, and because I trust Beth, I try it anyway. On my skin the utterly revolting stench of those loop-handled bank-teller lollipops immediately makes itself known, a grapey stink like the allergy medication I used to sneak from the cupboard and drink straight from the bottle as a child. (The fact that I used to do this probably explains a lot about me, by the way.) That stench doesn't linger for more than a minute, thank the Powers That Be, and is quickly replaced by a soft, wet red rose. My body latches onto rose scents and pushes them to the front of the crowd, so the grape smell very rapidly gets pulled under. I still catch whiffs of it now and then, but it's relaxed to a winey smell, not a popsicle one. As it warms, there's a sweet resin smell, the dragon's blood, that brings up the slight fuzzy rasp of the rose beautifully, underscoring it without overwhelming or altering the floral scent. An hour later, it's settled into a mix of roses and wine that I'd call nice, if that were in any way an adequate word. It's not aggressive, but not is it as polite as "nice" implies. It is distinctive and arresting, just a little sweet and fruity, and the wine note with the rose is profoundly, darkly, wetly, redly sexual. A throaty smell, almost too rich. This is a very womanly scent, but it's one with some real depth – both complex and overstated. Not many perfumes can claim both of those labels. Wearing down, it's an equal blend of all three ingredients that is intriguing and arresting. I like this very well, but I don't know if it edges out "Zombi."

In the bottle, this is sweet; not cloying, but clear, with the gardenia and tea rose right up front. The gardenia is floral, but it's a spicy, peppery floral that isn't too overwhelming. There is also an almost bubble-gum scent to this up close, but not in a negative way. On, the vanilla and jasmine heat up, and the candy smell vanishes. I get a whiff of roses. This is a very sweet blend, both in scent and in disposition – the throw is vanilla and gardenia, beguiling and feminine without being sexy. There is no real base note to this. Everything in it comes right out, and stays out. This vanilla is so rich and warm. I adore it, and I'm not normally one for walking around smelling like cookies. Even the cookie-phase of this is brilliant, and it didn't take long for it to subside and blend with the florals. Oh, I like this. I like it a lot. It's very not me, but I think I'm going to have to keep it. Interestingly, the second time I tried this, I didn't get the vanilla scent at all, it stayed in the background and the whole blend was much more floral. Still very, very nice.

In the bottle this is keen and woody, with an unfamiliar high note that is at once floral and incensey – the galangal and high john, I assume. There's cedar in here, too. On the skin, this is wonderful – herbal and sweet, a little incensey, and quite distinctive. Cedar! It's quite dry, and faded rather quickly on me to the scent of cedar and frankincense. Then even the cedar burned away, and left only the scent of frankincense, sandalwood, and that same high-pitched scent. It's not a sexy come-do-me smell, it's more of a contemplative, mystical scent. On my husband, it's almost pure cedarwood with an incensey blush to it. Low-key and thoughtful and very clean, not really sexy. This fades fast, within a couple of hours, leaving only a resinous scent of incense. Quite beguiling and lovely, but a bit subdued on me. I think I'll wear this when I want to be noticed, but I don't want my smell to be noticed, if you know what I mean.

In the bottle, dark roses with a hint of musk. On, the smell blooms pinkly, bottomed out with the musk which quickly asserts itself. The scent comes on strong, and the throw is very sugary and cloying. Up close, though, it's a thicker, throaty smell; the amber gives it some much-needed depth. The rose scent darkens slowly as it dries. It goes through a powdery phase, which most rose scents thankfully don't, and then, a couple of hours later, I can finally smell the amber and musk really clearly, though not as clearly as I would have liked. I like rose scents, I like musk, I like amber, but my skin apparently latches onto anything rose-scented. It takes a hell of a blend to get past the wall of roses smell, and this one doesn't quite have the guts to do it. I'm just going to have to stick with Zombi for my roses, because this, while dark, isn't quite dark enough. I need more depth to my scent and on me this is almost a single-note without any subtlety or darkness at all.

This smells exactly as promised: frankincense and myrrh. This dark-golden, thick blend smells strongly of incense. That's it. Nothing complex, no histrionic arm-waving, no scent shift, none of that. Once I put it on, the ripe and resinous scent of both is sharply fragrant and a little sweet. There's nothing I don't love about it – no florals to go powdery on me, no herbs to go rotten, no fruit smells to choke me, no food smells to linger unpleasantly. Just pure incense, golden and warm. Hallelujah, and do I hear an amen?

This is utterly wonderful, even in the bottle. Because it is so strange and complex, and almost dirty in the bottle, I wasn't sure about it at first sniff, so I tucked the imp away to wait for another occasion. Now that I have time to sit and consider it on its own basis, I'm getting roses and turned earth, and a green, loamy scent. This is gloriously earthy and rich. On, the roses come bursting out, not a green rose smell, but a dark red one, underscored with the most utterly dank peat-moss smell. This is like closing your fingers in fresh-turned earth. A leafy smell gradually peeks out, but doesn't become overwhelmingly green. It's still all earth and roses. Amazing. Like nothing I've ever smelled. I definitely want a bottle of this – the perfect balance of bright and dark. Hands plunged into fertile earth, rose petals in the mouth. Rich shade and silence.

This leaps out of the bottle with a strong white floral, underscored by patchouli's earthy darkness. On the skin, down go the florals and out comes the patchouli and the sweet thrum of musk, like drums. The myrrh comes slithering out. This is like a dance, the scents are shifting rapid-fire. Out comes patchouli again. The orris appears in little bursts, like bouquets. There's a turned-earth smell to this, but it's not a cold smell. It's very hot and animal, and a little dirty, and very alive, like something that might crawl up your leg. Like the smell of incubating snake eggs. I know that's the black musk mixing with the patchouli, thick like tar. It's a feral kind of smell. Composed of musk, patchouli, and myrrh, with nothing to sharpen or spice it up, this should be a slow-moving, dry scent, but it's actually quite lively and earthy on me. A real snake-dance of a scent. I have to say that the first phase of this on me smells like hippies humping in a graveyard, but I say it with mad love. Sadly, then it dries out and goes powdery. Rather abruptly, too. It's the orris, doing what lilacs do on my skin, and crumbling to ash. This one is going to be strongly influenced by how well you like patchouli, and whether or not your chemistry eats it or throws it out there. Mine picks it up easily. Also, if you tend to turn lilac scents powdery, this may well do the same. Orris is similar to lilac. I truly loved the initial phase of it, but it's too strong for immediate reapplication, and the wet smell doesn't last long enough for me to keep it around. I'll try it again in case it was an isolated thing, but I don't think I'll keep this one.