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The rich scent of wild blackberry breezing over gentle rosy heather. Sniffing the bottle, I was worried about the possibility of one of those gel-cone-things on the back of my grandmother's toilet being the result, but her bathroom should smell so good. It's hard to write this review from the floor, where I'm busy twitching in complete ecstasy. For Easter last year, I bought potted heather plants and gave them to my then in-laws. My mother grew up in eastern Oklahoma, and we often go pick blackberries when we visit my grandmother. This is the perfect combinaton of fields of what that heather, along with baskets of not-too-ripe blackberries and a few of their crushed leaves, would smell like.

A light, invigorating floral and citrus blend. Tuberose, lotus and jasmine with a hint of lime. Definite lime to this one, but it's the dark green rind of the lime, tart and zingy, along with the juice from the fresh half you're squeezing for the margaritas. It makes the lotus and jasmine absolute sparkle, with the tuberose still creamy and lush. This is a liquid smell, but not one of water. I'm not a white floral fan, but the lime changes this into something I not only want to wear, I can. Never over the top, no small children fall gagging at the white floral cloud around me, and I don't smell like a department store counter; there's no headache or sneezing when I wear these scents tied up by the lime. I think this would be a distinctive, pleasant way to wear a white floral if your chemistry usually contrasts violently with tuberose or jasmine, and it's so different from regular white florals that you should invest in an Imp if you typically despise those types of scents. Really in a league of its own.

From the Bewitching Brews collection: The essence of magickal enigmas and long-forgotten esoteric mysteries. Frankincense, rosemary, lavender, neroli, and verbena. Before my life was what it is now, I had a jar full of herbs and incense that a friend had given me for safekeeping, in what is a long and for this avenue, unrelated story. Arcana, though, transports me instantly to unscrewing the grey metal lid of that jar and breathing in the fading, drying scent of a beloved friend who I couldn't be with in spite of us both desperately needing each other at that time in our lives. Lavender and rosemary, softened by the creamy neroli and pale verbena, are almost edible in their lemon-herbal splendour here. Frankincense, which I usually find bitter and dry, gives this an airy but powerful top note that is somehow the support for all these bright, resonating herbs. No medicinal quality, as you might expect from lavender and rosemary, and an unexpected gentleness that's powerful while still seeming to echo from far, far away.

Venerable Victorian Tea Rose… twisted, blackened and emboldened with wickedness. I found this one to be lightly rosy, but in a crumbling, dried rose sort of way. Add in a sputtering fire from the alleyway; a bit of wet wood. Not too sweet, with an musty earth smell under it. Wore well throughout the day, but without turning into an overpowering or cloying tea rose scent. Nice!

My mother's from a very rural, very poor part of Eastern Oklahoma - she didn't have running water in the house until she was fifteen, if that tells you anything. She had lots of love growing up, but not much of what you and I might consider everyday fare, and I got to sample some of that lifestyle as a child, because we visited regularly. Beth's sassafrass note is the real thing. It smells exactly like the homemade root beer and candy I turned my nose up at as a kid, and my mother confirmed this, pulling back from this smell in what was close to revulsion. It's not that it smells bad, mind you - it is, in fact, a lighter, more astringent version of root beer as we think of it - but it's definitely representative of a life she's basically left behind. It's real, though, and it's a lot of fun. I got just a bit on my hand when she jerked back, and the next time I walked through the living room, my father started sniffing and looking perplexed. He headed to the pantry and started digging through soda bottles to see if any were root beer, which he "just got a hankering for, for no good reason."

The Lion, from Mad Tea Party: The dry, glorious warmth of the Savannah. A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious. He's strong and swarthy, with the tiniest bit of cinnamon and moderate spice hanging in the air around him. I swear I smell the cat smell that comes off the lions at the zoo - thick fur, a bit of dirt, and some sort of hay or pellet-ed food from a nearby enclosure. There's a hint of sweetness - I don't know if this Lion is from the Wardrobe, or the Lion and Unicorn scene in Alice, but he very well could have been eating mirror cake to get this faint sweetness under it all. Maybe a hint of clove, or ginger? I don't usually care for those two, so I can't identify which it is, but it's very nice here. The Lion dries down soft, fuzzy, and with a faint, powdered-sugar lushness that keeps it from being exactly sweet. That particular note is similar to the divine soft, almost-sweet, dryness in Old Morocco, but without the saffron vibe. I imagine this is what it would smell like to walk up to a sleeping lion at the zoo -one who's just had a bath and is laying in the sun, after rolling around in a patch of soft dried grass - and bury your face in his warm, wooly mane. Edited to add - I ordered a bottle of Egyptian Amber single note from the Lab, and hadn't opened it yet. The minute I opened the bottle, I was bowled over by both the scent and my ignorance, because it was the faintly cinnamon note in the Lion that I love but couldn't identify - turns out the Lion is loaded with egyptian amber! EDIT: Added Lab's new description, moved from Up-and-Coming --Shollin

Pure internal harmony and spiritual bliss: the perfected meditation blend. I am going to be so embarassed when I find out what's actually in this one; it'll be one of those "smack-yourself-in-the-forehead" moments, because I *know* these scents. If Beth didn't do such a good job of blending them, this would be much easier. My first impression was a drop of chocolate, a mystery floral that shouldn't be a mystery, as I've smelled and reviewed this note, and touch of cloves. I mean it when I say a touch of cloves; I really have to search to identify it before my chemistry shoves it into overdrive, but it's enough to throw me off the track on the floral note, which I'm beginning to suspect is frangipani. Tranquil and soft, like an old shirt you've worn soft ... but better. There's peace and contentment in this, with a hefty dose of depth and disconnection blended in. Subtle, with strength and nobility.

Refined, austere and graceful. A recipe gleaned from Classical Rome: cypress, juniper, chamomile and rose. Goes on sharp and green, with the kind of intensity you'd expect from eucalyptus. After fifteen minutes or so, I sniff my wrists and find a very light, herbal rose; in fact, it's all about the chamomile with a moderate rose undercurrent, and is supported quite nicely by a late summer leaf, plucked from the tree and crushed between your fingers. Surprisingly, this had very little staying power on me. Maybe an hour, at the most. Usually green scents last longer than anything else on me, and this one would have to be touched up regularly. Would be well worth it, though - I think making some lotion out of this and layering might help, as well.

Twin to Deimos and child of War, Phobos is the embodiment of terror and mortal fear. Chilling white musk, lemon verbena, white grapefruit and lemongrass. I love lemon, and Phobos is good for my lemon needs. Lemon verbena really dominates this scent, and it's a good way to enjoy lemon notes without smelling like some sort of cleaning fluid. In fact, the white grapefruit adds a very clear, barely tart but distinctly grapefruit sort of citrus tone - basically, all the good things about grapefruit - and the lemongrass makes it exotically grassy without tainting the clarity of the citrus. Cool, clear, and crisp - the white musk is really the bow around the package, tying it all together, rather than standing out on its own - perfect for warm weather wear.

Envelop yourself in the soft, sensual embrace of gentle sandalwood warmed by cocoa vanilla and a veil of deep myrrh. The cocoa vanilla is quickly lost in the overpowering sandalwood. If the sandalwood and cocoa vanilla could balance each other, with the myrrh just biting into the sweetness, this would be stellar. Sadly, it's not. Like pencil shavings and melted chocolate mushed together in the very dirty palm of a grade school boy.

A scent as heavy as thunder from the Vatican, with notes that inspire every sin and excess. Black opium, with vetivert and honeysuckle. Silks and velvets, lush blooms crushed under writhing bodies, the richest and best that exists - full-blown honeysuckle made even headier by black poppy. I can practically feel drooping, fantastically smooth petals brush past my nose. Vetivert lends a minimal, earthy, grounding note and takes a while to come out; this isn't the heavy root scent described in the single-note reviews, so don't be afraid to try Anathema. It's the biggest, boldest, most gloriously in-your-face floral by Beth I've ever tried, decadent and with an aura that's twice life-sized.

Dark children conceived from the union of Fallen Angels and the Daughters of Men. According to lore, the angel Shemhazai led a group of his angels to earth to instruct mankind in the ways of piety and righteousness. After a time, the angels became prey to earthly desires and began to lust after the daughters of man, and thus they fell. They instructed their mortal mates in the arts of conjuration, summoning, necromancy and other magickal arts. The fruits of their union are the Nephilim: possessed of superhuman strength, cunning, and infinite capacity, and hunger for, sin. Venerated as heroes by some, vilified by most, the Nephilim eventually annihilated one another in a cataclysmic civil war instigated by the angel Gabriel as punishment for their transgressions. Holy frankincense and hyssop in union with earthy fig, defiled by black patchouli and vetiver, with a chaotic infusion of lavender, cardamom, tamarind, rosemary, oakmoss and cypress. Frankincense. No, fig. No, cypress. I can't decide which of these is foremost in the blend, which coincides with a description that includes "chaotic". There's a lot more fig in Nephilim than I expected, although it's highlighted by the opposing texture of the frankincense and a subtle herbal note that's a combination of hyssop and just a touch of rosemary. Nephilim is nice. It's not stellar in the category of Kali, the Kindly Ones, and Aizen-Myoo, but it is good. I feel a little unkind for saying that, but considering the company it keeps, I think it's accurate. For now, I'm keeping this at an Imp, and will save my purchasing possibilities for some of the others that are higher on my must-have list.

From the Tarot collection; no description provided on BPAL's website. Goes on sticky-sweet with a fizzy sort of undertone, and quickly backs down into a barely herbal, warm and woody blend that retains some sense of the effervescence without it actually being a defineable note. A hint of moss, plenty of rosewood, and maybe a touch of amber? Solid like a huge old oak with new leaves coming out in spring, and very balanced.

Orris, black amber, bergamot, plum and grapefruit. Orris grabs my nose first, but it's quickly overcome by the sparkle of grapefruit and the sweetness of plum. Very quickly, the orris recedes into the background to become a supporting note, and it takes Megaera from having moderate depth to a very complex and strong character. Although it takes a while, the bergamot offers up its distinct tones, but they don't last long at the forefront. Suprisingly, the grapefruit lasts longer, and the plum stays with me longest of the fruit notes - all of these borne on the soft-as-fur shoulders of black amber, which makes this sultry and just the tiniest bit petulant. This is such a warm, fruity scent - think of Jester all grown up, completely womanly, and pal-ing around with Old Venice part of the time; that will give you the basic idea of Megaera, but she'll have to be tried for you to really understand her.

Named for the ambitious, vengeful poisoner Catherine deMedici, who used perfumes to perform her dark deeds. A sinful blend of orange blossom, rosemary and rose... allegedly the exact perfume she utilzed in her work. The rosemary jumps out first, with the rose close behind; within a couple of minutes they're perfectly balanced on my skin. The orange blossom takes a little longer to appear, and never really separates itself from the other two, as it seems to be the tie that binds and blends in this one. My very first perfume love was (you're not going to believe this) Estee Lauder's Private Collection. Brash, overbearing, chemical green in a bottle! Catherine is all the things that were good about Private Collection, like the crisp clarity of scent demonstrated in the rosemary component. It's also so much better it's hard to imagine, with the rose and the orange blossom creating a soft, feminine overlay. Fist of steel in a velvet glove, I believe the saying goes.

A phenomenally powerful attractant. Sexual and commanding in the extreme. The Voodoo Blends all share a common herbal note, but it doesn't make any of them smell the same. Come to Me is not my favorite, but the soapy, herbal freshness of it seems to bring men running to me.

Oleander with black patchouli, ylang ylang, and neroli. Damn it. I just waxed poetic about this scent, then somehow managed not to submit the post. You'll have to suffer through the re-posted version, which is never as good as the first one. Prefaced with a reminder that I have funkified body chemistry in the areas of jasmine, ylang-ylang, and musks; so funkified, you may want to totally disregard my reviews of scents with these notes unless you're the same way. That stated, Tisiphone is fantastic, even on me. Creamy, biting neroli lifted by a heady white floral that can only be oleander, and ylang-ylang that sweetens and intensifies the southern flower-garden I keep sniffing on my arm. The black patchouli seems to be missing in action, as I never once get a sense of it. I am surprised ... well, amazed, if the truth be told ... at how contrary this is to my usual scent preferences, and how lovely it is. It's tough and bold, soft-skinned and curvy, brash and delicate all at the same time. I'll be ordering this one, which I'd put up there with Ophelia and Unseelie as atypical florals.

A brace of loaded pistols He carried night and day; He never robbed a poor man Upon the king's highway; But what he'd taken from the rich, Like Turpin and Black Bess, He always did divide it With the widow in distress. Stand and deliver! Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather. First on, Highwayman hits me with a wave of vetiver. Since vetiver is a scent I prefer in small quantities, I'm a little anxious for the drydown and what other notes may come through. The other notes do come through, and start to show themselves fairly quickly. There's a gorgeous floral decadence of jasmine and rose twined together, and the cinnamon is quick to warm up and meld into them. The leather is there, too - while it's just a hint, it's that fabulous pure leather note at work in DeSade - like rubbing your hands over a leather saddle and being able to smell the scent, mixed with everything else, on your fingers later in the day. I had to try Highwayman twice to find the gardenia. Think of a gorgeous man standing next to a tangle of flowering bushes, and that's where the florals come in - they're not really even supporting cast; it's like smelling two distinct presences at one time but not being able to disassociate them. Highwayman did end up seeming very masculine to my nose, because the leather became more definite as time went by, and the cinnamon gives it a different sort of earthy quality than the vetiver led me to believe it would have. If I stick my nose up close to the spot of this blend on my wrist, I don't care for it; the vetiver becomes the focal point and is more than I prefer. If I sniff a couple of inches away, though, it's wonderful - very clear, and surprisingly light. I'll be slathering the imp on the man in my life, and then moving away from him for about three minutes to avoid the vetiver wave. At that point, if it smells as good on him as it does on me after drying down and warming up, I'll be investing in a bottle.[/font]

Wistful and vulnerable: lotus, water blossom ivy, stargazer lily and white rose. Ophelia is an aquatic floral that made my mother's eyes get that far-away, romantic, remembering look. I smell the wonderful flower moments in my life - wedding bouquets, the teacup filled with tiny flowers for my daughter's first day among us. A five-star rating from someone who despises almost all completely floral scents should give you a clue how amazing and true this one is; six out of five might be more appropriate.

From the Love Potions collection: A woman of exquisite, unearthly beauty, profound intelligence, wit, and exceeding wealth, the Queen of Sheba - called Bilquis by the Muslims and Makeda by the ancient Abyssinians - traveled by caravan to Solomon's realm seeking proof of the king's reputed wisdom. Bearing gifts of exotic spices, a veritable mountain of gold, hearty camels and precious stones, she presented herself to the king and, bearing her heart to him, asked him a series of challenging questions, and was ultimately convinced of the truth of his wisdom, knowledge and judiciousness. In the end, the great king and queen conquered each other's hearts and fell breathlessly in love: the perfect marriage of equals. Her scent is a bounty of golden honeyed almonds and a whisper of African and Middle Eastern spices. The Queen of Sheba is absolute luxury without the taint of utter decadence, and the golden honeyed almonds lead off the scent as a sign of this. Sweet, heady, and with a green-red jumble of peppercorn and golden saffron whispering through like flowing silks, she warms to amber and maybe the tiniest drop of sweet wormwood without ever really moving completely over to them. In the end, I'm resplendent in a soft envelope of faintly sweet spice that's a bit of Haunted and a bit of Old Morocco. Although I don't smell any in this scent, my mental image is one of honey enhanced with these wonderful things, as this doesn't have the dryness of Old Morocco; it's almost fluid in its insistent whisper. Moderate strength and staying power, fantastic wafting power off the skin; this one is a definite purchase for me.</span>

It's light, it's fresh ... it's ... pickled?!?!! How odd! This is pale, pale green, like iceberg lettuce. Its fresh, even wet. Very cool and crisp. It's also funky. Perfumey and - I can't believe it - oddly sour, to the point it has a vinegary tone. Not necessarily unpleasant, just odd, after all the fantastically true single notes I've been testing. My bizarre chemistry may also be the cause, as I had my best friend try it, and she swears she's out in her garden, picking leaf lettuce, when she smells it.

The Fair Lady, Winter Witch, White Maiden of the Storm. Szepasszony is a Hungarian demoness that appears as a stunningly beautiful woman with long, silver-white hair and a blinding white dress. She revels in storms, particularly when hail rains down on her. Water dripping down eaves into a puddle is an invitation for her to cause mischief: she uses the puddle as a magickal tool for casting her wicked spells. It is considered foolhardy to step into a circle of short grass ringed by taller grasses, as those mark the circles where the Fair Lady dances. A chilly, tempestuous whirlwind of clear, airy notes, slashing rain, and a thin undercurrent of white flowers. Daffodil, with a hint of dandelion, according to my nose, although white flowers are mentioned in the description. Absolutely the scent of sitting on your porch during a thunderstorm and smelling the battered flowers in your flowerbed give off their perfume; cold wind and rain that makes you snuggle deeper into your covers in early spring is definitely present, as well. Clear, yes, and aquatic - not harsh, though. Dry-down was softly vicious, and utterly wonderful.

Limited Edition, Winter 2003 - GINGERBREAD POPPET Warm, cozy gingerbread spiced with nutmeg, clove and cinnamon. That delicious gingerbread note in Gluttony? This is the original. Spicy, delectable, and just like walking into your grandmother's house at the holidays, Gingerbread Poppet will make you want to nibble on yourself - or better yet, make someone else want to nibble on you. Not overwhelmingly sweet or artificial in the least, and very nearly edible; this isn't your craft-store gingerbread potpourri scent. True and yummy!

Gentle tea rose, lilac, Calla Lily, and Somalian Rose layered over golden Peruvian amber, Spanish moss, red sandalwood, rosewood, and myrrh, with the lightest touch of Mandarin. Heavy on the tea rose and lily for the first five minutes, Viola settles into pure warmth and gentle, lush, but faint rose with a hint of lilac. The amber, spanish moss, and rosewood make this absolutely round and full and warm, and that drop of mandarin gives Viola just enough sparkle to not be a woody floral scent. The sandalwood never makes it out in the open; I guess red sandalwood is a lower-key version of the sandalwood that came clamoring out in Velvet. Whatever the case, this works.

A scent pulsing with vitality, warmth and insurmountable strength: dragon's blood resin, red and black musks, a throb of fig and a sliver of black currant. Black currant and fig sweeten the dragon's blood resin in the first sniff for a beautiful start, and quickly are overtaken by the red and black musks. Beth's description is much better than anything I could come up with, because this really is all about warmth and vitality, with no cinnamon or spices in sight. If you've ever seen steps with a round spot in them from years of wear, think of that image in deep, polished red-brown wood and you've got Dragon's Heart.