garbagewitch

Sweet and crisp! I'm not super familiar with the scent of juniper berries, but I’m guessing this is juniper berries mingling with bergamot. It gets a little more floral as it dries down, but stays very light and crisp. If the patchouli and white musk are around, they’re too well-blended into the other notes for me to pick them out individually. With the way other very light, airy scents have gone on me, though, I suspect they might be responsible for keeping this one from feeling like it’s about to turn into soap or just float away. Oberon is cool and clean and refreshing in a way that makes me imagine a stream running through the woods, tempting you to wade in on a warm day: the gentle babble of flowing water, the way the sunlight glints off the surface, the perfect clarity that lets you see straight down to the pebbles lining the bottom. I really wouldn’t be surprised to find a fae king or a river god smelling like this; it’s just the right blend of innocuous and inviting, refinement with a touch of nature. The fairy queen’s consort is a good fit for this, but if I was going to assign a character to this scent, my first choice would probably be Haku, the dragon from Spirited Away. I don’t typically like very clean scents on myself, but I’ve been wanting something crisp and fresh to wear in hot weather and I think Oberon is it for me. It straddles the line between perfumey and natural really well, manages to be clean without ever veering into soapy, and feels ethereal without seeming like it’s going to disappear. It's pretty much everything I wanted out of a ~refreshing~ scent.

In my early perfume days, just the idea of florals made me wrinkle my nose, and rose seemed the most flowery of them all. Then I got into BPAL and Persephone just sounded too good to pass up; I loved the goddess, I loved pomegranate, and maybe the rose wouldn’t be too strong? That first order arrived and I realized I actually really like rose, when it’s done by someone who knows how to treat a rose right. That was years ago, though, so when my friend snagged an imp in her first order, I wasn’t expecting it to live up to the memory I have of it. Spoiler alert: it absolutely does. Persephone starts off with an intense sweetness, that’s only kept from being candied by how juicy it is. The rosiness comes forward almost immediately after the initial explosion of sweetness, and it’s one hell of a rose, full and blooming with perfectly pink, ruffled petals. The sweetness and juiciness of pomegranate blends seamlessly with the rose; this smells like what I imagine a rose would taste like if it was a fruit. There’s also a slight green, leafy edge that makes me think this rose is still on the bush. As it dries down, the green edge eventually disappears and juiciness calms down a little, but it stays sweet and pink and lush all the way through. It isn’t at all a sexual scent, but the juiciness of the pomegranate makes it almost unbearably sensual to me. If I smelled this on someone else, I’d want to bite them. It wouldn’t be an aggressive or sexual impulse, it would just be automatic, the way I would want to sink my teeth into a ripe strawberry. If Lucy's Kiss is the scent of a demure young woman half-dressed and fresh from bathing in rosewater, then Persephone is the scent that trails off that same young woman as she leads you on a playful chase through the garden on a rainy night, bare feet dancing across the damp grass and laughter sparkling alongside the patter of rain. Not at all wild, but playful and carefree in a way that's only possible when propriety has been thrown decisively out the window. Fresher, cooler, and not quite as clean as Lucy’s Kiss, with a crisp, ripe sweetness that makes you want to nuzzle in closer, to lick and bite once you've caught her. Along with Dorian, this is one of those scents I’m so crazy about, I can’t help but recommend it indiscriminately. Try it if you like rose, try it if you think you don't like rose, try it if you like sweet scents or fruity scents, try it if you haven't already tried it, just try it.

Titania makes me imagine the most whimsical, soft-focus spring picnic: an assortment of soft fruit, chilled and slightly damp from sitting on a bed of ice, each one perfectly ripe and juicy and sweet. The scent of the juice on your fingertips mingles with that drifting off of the sprays of sweet pea twined in your hair and surrounding your dainty fest. Instead of a regular picnic blanket, you've got mismatched, slightly threadbare velvet cushions laid out in the shade. If there's also a cooler full of ice and Four Lokos that you lugged up with you, it's certainly not sitting where any of your selfies are going to catch it. Titania reminds me a bit of the girls in high school who seemed almost like manic pixie dream girls come to life, soft and pretty and picture perfect, not a rough edge in sight. Twee as fuck, but if you're looking down your nose at her, it's probably because you're still jealously trying to figure out how she sanded down her jagged corners. (She didn't; she just figured out those flattering angles a lot sooner than you did.) The most intriguing part of this scent to me is that damp, chilled note; between Titania and 504 Gateway, I'm dying to find it in a blend that works on me. Everything else was... pretty, but not quite right. Wearing Titania made me feel like it needed something to pin it down, a grounding note or maybe just a more fitting personality. My friend and I both agreed it would probably smell better on the kind of person who wears fluttery cotton maxi dresses and flower crowns, the kind of person who loves things like sunshine and being outside, and also probably regularly updates their instagram with reminders about how much they love those things. (Which I realize makes us sound like absolute vampires, but. Well. That's only one of us.) If you're looking for a fruity-floral that manages to go harder on the fruits without ever getting cloyingly sweet, or just a nice airy springtime scent, I'd say Titania might be a good bet for you.

Sensual ecstasy, the blinding red fire of the apex of sexual pleasure: Moroccan rose, Sumatran rose, mandarin, Egyptian myrrh, night-blooming jasmine, bergamot and neroli thrust into Arabian musk. Very fresh and clean and pretty, all sweet white jasmine and sharp bergamot at the start. My friend said Rapture reminded them of laundry soap, and I have to agree; the crispness of the bergamot and the floral freshness of the jasmine come together to make me think of clean, neatly folded linen. It's a lovely laundry soap, though! Not a gallon bottle of Tide, but a jar of homemade laundry soap with dried flower petals and curls of orange peel mixed in. It gets sweeter as it dries down, and I think that's the mandarin coming forward more. The extra sweetness makes it smell a bit less like laundry, but never takes it into candied / fruity territory. Rapture is clean and light all the way to the end, just warmer and sweeter, like a sundress going from freshly laundered to being worn out to a picnic on a sunny day. Though I don't think they actually smell all that similar, the feeling it evokes makes me think of a less prim, more exuberant Endymion. They both have that tidy femme feeling to me, the one that makes me imagine fluttering lace curtains and freshly cut flowers. Where Endymion would wear a pencil skirt and a subtle pinky-brown lipstick, though, Rapture would probably choose a swishy sundress and a brighter pink lipgloss. This one isn't for me, but if sweet, fresh florals are your thing, I think it's definitely worth a try.

The scent of warm, glowing jack o’lanterns on a warm autumn night: true Halloween pumpkin, spiced with nutmeg, glowing peach and murky clove. Nutmeg, warm and spicy, right out of the gate! As it dries down, it starts to sweeten up, and I can make out the pumpkin and clove, too. God, I know July’s just begun, but this scent makes me want autumn to happen. Right! Now! I want to wrap myself up in a heavy coat I don’t actually own and complain about cold weather I was dying for just a few weeks earlier. I want to start knitting and baking like a witch getting ready to hibernate. I want to dive headfirst into a pumpkin pie. It keeps on getting sweeter, but it’s a very light, almost syrupy kind of sweet—definitely the peach. Seeing that note really threw me off the first time I tried it, but now that I’ve been wearing it a while, I think it’s the peach that makes this scent really stand out. It gives Jack that glowing aura that makes it more than just pumpkin spice, all liquid and golden, like someone managed to pour the earliest part of an autumn sunset into a mug. This makes me think of what I always imagined going to the local corn maze with my high school friends would be like, before I actually did it and realized both the corn maze and my high school friends were actually kind of shitty. It’s a pure distillation of the ideal fall, the hot drinks and heavy knitwear and fiery sunsets that guard you against the approaching chill. If Jack were a person, it would be someone who wears worn-in flannel shirts and sturdy boots, someone who always has a hand-knit scarf to wrap around your neck and a pie waiting in the oven for you, someone who knows how to stoke a fire and make a hot toddy to banish the nastiest of colds. Warm and gentle and welcoming, in a way that verges on transcendent, with rough edges that only highlight the beauty they're framing. (Bon Iver, is what I’m saying. I’m saying that it would be Bon Iver.)

Starts out sharp and sweet, vetiver enveloped in a really lovely, golden sweetness—honey, with vanilla and cherry making it sweeter and brighter, and keeping it from going soft and powdery. It stays sweet as it dries down, but starts to go from gold to red, the cherry coming forward more and maybe the red wine peeking its head out a little? That sharp center is still around, but it’s not so piercing as it was in the beginning—the clove starts tempering the vetiver, making it more of a low rasp than a high-pitched shriek. Something about this reminds me of chocolate; it doesn’t actually smell like chocolate, but there’s something here that’s pushing one of the same buttons in my head that the scent of chocolate hits? I think it’s the fact that the intensely sweet cherry is reminding me of chocolate-covered cherries, the ones that just overflow with cherry juice and syrup when you bite into them. It's deep red, plump cherries, drenched in a sweet syrup of honey and red wine, and there's every element of those chocolate-covered cherries except the chocolate itself, but then my mind catches that vetiver-clove sharpness and slides it right into the slot a good bittersweet dark chocolate would go in. It's decadence taken almost to the point of obscenity. I absolutely love this scent, but it took me a really long time to figure out how I felt and I think that's partly because of how well-blended it is (it took me forever to be able to pick out any individual notes) and partly because of how intense it is. All that being said, Blood Kiss absolutely lives up to that near-pornographic description. It's the kind of scent that’s so thick it’s almost a taste; it's much, much sweeter than I prefer my scents these days, but the sharpness of the vetiver manages to pin it down and keep it from being cloying, while the vetiver is so sharp, it would be unpleasant if it wasn't illuminated by such a brilliant sweetness. Together, though, they're like an enchantingly beautiful person with a viciously cruel edge—both shocking and alluring in a way that just wouldn't be possible if only one of those elements was present. If it were a person, Blood Kiss would be the woman Lucrezia Borgia is remembered for being (quite different from who she likely actually was): poisonously deadly, but so charming and beautiful that you don't even notice the blade until it's already sliding between your ribs.

At the start, Velvet is pure chocolate, with just a hint sharp sandalwood. I almost want to call it powdery, but that's not the right word, it's just very dry—not chocolate, cocoa powder, straight from the tin. As it settles, the sandalwood comes forward more, accompanied by the shadowy rasp of myrrh. The cocoa smells exactly like the main ingredient to hot chocolate, but the sandalwood and myrrh keep it from ever feeling truly edible. Though it started out almost all cocoa, the drydown ends up mostly sandalwood, with the cocoa just softening up the edges and the myrrh lending some weight and shadow to it all. Velvet is the perfect name for this scent, it’s dry and soft and warm, everything velvet should be. Something about this scent makes me think of a church; it’s dark and somber and still, but at the same time warm and peaceful—like pews carved from dark wood and draped in the silence and shadow of night. It would be eerie, but there's such a sense of safety, the quiet can't be anything but calming. It's a gentle touch hiding behind austerity, it's peace dressed in the formal garb of ritual, it's finding comfort in supplication.

Minty, sweet, and... damp? Like that startling damp chill when you pull a blanket out of the dryer and wrap yourself up in it, but you jumped the gun and it's not actually fully dry yet. I don't know how (or even why) that exact feeling got turned into a scent, but it damn well did and I'm so very confused, but also very, very impressed. The sweet is a kind of fruity-candy sweet; it took me a while to pinpoint it, but it actually reminds me of the exact smell of fruity mentos? It's such a weird combination of smells, I feel like my brain doesn't really know how to parse it. Mint chewing gum in a container that used to have fruity mentos in it, and also you just washed your hands? An open container of tide pods and the dawning realization that you just put two packs of minty gum and half a roll of fruity mentos from two years ago through the wash? Brushing your teeth in the shower and getting fruity shampoo on your toothbrush and minty toothpaste everywhere but your mouth? Unsettlingly sweet, minty-clean confusion. I don't know when (or even if) I would ever reach for this again, but it's so bizarre, I'm delighted I got to experience it. I'm also really intrigued by that damp note; I'd love to try it again in something with less chewing gum and soap.

This reminds me of being back in the Philippines, sitting in my lola's garden and just breathing in the scent of jasmine flowers. Heady and sweet and just a little sharp, settled firmly in that space between soapy and fleshy that actual jasmine always seems to occupy. And it keeps on like that as it dries down--just jasmine, all the way down. I'm a little disappointed the other notes aren't more present, because I was excited to see an entirely floral fragrance that had all the flowers I love and none I don't, but that's definitely offset by how pleased I am to have such a true jasmine scent.

Sharp, clean pine right off the bat. As it dries down, the pine doesn't budge an inch, but the black musk sort of blooms behind it, giving it a soft, shadowy backdrop. The juniper and cypress come out to mingle with the pine, giving it a bit more dimension (and I think a hint of sweetness?), making it less clean and more foresty. Meanwhile, the black musk just gets warmer and fuzzier, more animal than shadow. It manages to be very cool and crisp, but at the same time, soft and lived-in. Black Forest is definitely a scent that lives up to its description: it's freshly fallen snow, looming woods, and dark figures that could be shadow or beast. Not overtly menacing, but certainly wild and unknown--and what's more frightening than the wolf that might be there? It's also an unsettlingly perfect fit for a character I've been writing: a shapeshifter who spends a substantial amount of time trekking through the woods. It's the pine needles she collects for tea, the snow caught in the wild tangle of her hair; it's her clean, damp fur at one moment and, at another, her bare skin flushed red from cold and exertion. I've taken to wearing Black Forest almost anytime I write about her, especially when it's from someone else's perspective, because it's pretty much the exact scent that would waft off of her when she walked into a room. Though they don't actually smell that much alike, this and Dracul feel slightly related to me; I think it's the contrast between cool, crisp woods (pine in Black Forest, fir in Dracul) and the soft, fuzzy black musk. But where Dracul is a gentleman who knows what it's like to wear the skin of a wolf, Black Forest is simply the wolf, pure and untamed. Between this and Dracul, I've also realized I really enjoy black musk. It has a soft, yet very animal quality that makes me think of clean fur, or maybe not-quite-clean skin. It's distinctly wild without being aggressive or dirty, which fills a niche I didn't even know I wanted filled.

Dracul starts out crisp, clean, and slightly sweet—cool, sharp fir and mint, with an undertone of something warmer and sweeter, orange blossom and tobacco I think, with the musk giving it all a gentle fuzziness. As it dries down, the warmer notes come forward more, tobacco becoming darker and earthier, while cumin and clove pop out to provide a hint of sharpness against the furry black musk. The mint and fir still linger, creating a cool backdrop for the warmer notes. Definitely one of the most interesting scents I've tried. The contrast of warm and cold notes makes me think of bright sunshine on a crisp, snowy day, then coming inside to a gently crackling fire, or a pair of cool, pale hands disappearing into a dark woolen coat carrying traces of pipe smoke. It's also one of the more perfumey BPAL scents I've ever tried. All the notes are so well-blended, it took quite a few days of wearing it to pick out all the individual notes; the kind of scent that's definitely something someone chose to wear and not what they just naturally smell like, but in the best way. Dracul is dark and refined and a little intimidating, without being overpowering or malicious. If I had to imagine the person who would wear this, I'd imagine a very well-dressed, austere man--the kind of man you'd describe as a gentleman without even thinking about it--who starts out quite aloof, but gradually gets warmer and more welcoming as the evening goes on, though there’s still an air of distance and darkness to him. This is the scent of that person who you fantasize about noticing you, but would absolutely terrify you if they actually did. This is not the kind of scent I would have chosen for myself, but the more I sniff it, the more I enjoy this. Not sure yet if there's a full bottle in my future, but absolutely would recommend.

The very first sniff: Robitussin! I’ve genuinely tried to pick out notes, but when it first hits my skin, it smells just like a face full of Robitussin for a few seconds. I actually jerked back instinctively, like I do when I'm faced with an actual dose of cough syrup. The cough syrup opening dies down quickly, though, and it goes very floral. Not a fluttery-clean, nose-tickling floral like lily or sweet pea, but something more lush and substantial, I think it's a mix of the hibiscus and lotus. I quite like this phase, especially as it warms up a bit; it makes me think of a flower with thick, pale waxy petals, surrounded by shadows. Womanly and inviting, but with a soft aura of danger. If it would just stay like this, I think I could adore it, but it just doesn't last long enough for that to happen. Whatever was making it so dense and shadowy fades much too soon and it just becomes all lotus. Between Kali and Black Lotus, I've figured out two things: what lotus smells like, and that I don't particularly like it. It's pretty, but there’s something very insubstantial about it—even when it's very clearly there, it seems almost like it might disappear at any moment. If I'm going to wear a scent, I want it to be present. It also seems to have a tendency to elbow every other note in a perfume out of the way, which is quite annoying. I'll be passing this on to someone else, and putting lotus on my Proceed with Caution list.

This is one of those perfumes that makes me feel like a kid again, like a little girl sliding around in mom's heels and rummaging through lipstick tubes and perfume bottles. It's the lily: when I was a kid, my mom wore Anais Anais, which was heavy on the lilies, and now anything with a good dose of lily in it takes me back like that. Endymion has much more than just a good dose of lily in it; the lily's pretty much the only note I can pick out. There's something else lingering on the edges that keeps it from going full baby-wipe-clean on me, I think it might be the pear or the musk, but all I can really make out is that it keeps the lily from getting too out of control. Eventually whichever note was keeping it pretty and perfumey fades out and it goes into the baby-wipe-territory that overly clean white florals tend to go on me. As it dries down further, it gets very soft and powdery. Although it's definitely not for me, it's a very pretty, feminine scent, all light and fluttery and clean. It smells like the kind of person who hangs watercolor paintings and white lace curtains in their house, who always has an intimidatingly tidy kitchen and fresh cut flowers in a glass vase by the window. They probably wear a nice pinky-brown lipstick and neutral eyeshadow. Prim and proper, without being buttoned-up or prudish. This is what you would wear when you want to smell like a version of you that's cleaned up and got their shit together; I can't see it being out of place or inappropriate for anything.

Starts off sweet, warm, almost buttery, then gradually the cocoa comes forward and it smells like melting chocolate with butter for some kind of confection. It makes me want to wander into the kitchen to look for a spoon to lick, even though I know I'm not going to find any chocolatey treats there. Eventually the butter backs off and leaves a cup of rich hot chocolate spiked with rum, and something drier and smokier lingering at the edges. As it dries down further, the rum starts to take over, like that cup of hot chocolate is being topped off with more and more rum. The end result is just a little more spicy than sweet, with a touch of darkness lingering at the edges. Very sensual and striking, with a warmth that stems from intensity rather than invitation. It's sexy, but the kind of sexy that comes from being carelessly confident rather than a sexiness that's actively trying to draw you in. The kind of scent for nights when you definitely want to be noticed, but not necessarily approached. No wine or blood that I can pick out, which is a bit of a bummer, but it's too good for me to be that disappointed. I don't like really foody or really sweet scents as much as I used to, but I cannot stop sniffing my wrist, which I think says a lot.

A very straightforward, unadorned rose scent. Not especially green or earthy, and not at all showy. It's not roses on a bush in a garden or out in the wild, and it's not a huge, bursting bouquet either. This is just a few roses, pale pink and freshly cut, wrapped in a white handkerchief. If there's a spot or two of blood from a pricked finger, then it's been tucked neatly out of sight. It feels demure and soft-spoken, but artlessly so; it doesn't play at being coy or wilting. Very clean and fresh, but not in a soapy or sterile way. It's like catching a young woman just halfway into dressing, her hair loose and a little damp, her white shift clinging to skin still dewy from bathing; it's like the massive clawfoot tub she just climbed out of, clouded with steaming water and scented oils. Simple, but very lovely.

A sinful, licentious scent: self-indulgent and luxurious. Mingled heady civet and red Egyptian musk, thickened with opium. Starts out very sharp, with an almost fizzy quality to it--like a dark soda without any of the sweetness. It reminds me a lot of fizzy-rootbeer-y opening of Tabu, so I'm guessing it's either the civet or the red musk, since there's no opium in Tabu. It's also distinctly dirty, but I can’t quite put into words exactly how; not like sweat or cum or any other bodily fluid/substance I can put a name to, but there's definitely something living about it. That has to be the civet, and while it's kind of unsettling, I'm into it. It's heady, in a very literal way: breathing deeply makes me almost dizzy. As it dries down, it gets warmer, softer, smokier; kind of sweet and burnt, but not in a bad way. The unsettlingly alive dirtiness is still there, and while I still can't pin a specific substance to it, it reminds me a little of the rough, animal smell of someone who's been on a bender, long enough that they definitely haven't kept up with their personal hygiene and it smells, but not so long that they're truly rank. Licentious? Hell yes. Luxurious? Not so much. This isn't a scent that has the wealth or patience for silk sheets and slow, creative sex. It's too impulsive for that, too raw and rude and reckless. This is a scent that occupies that space between two and three in the morning, black tarry asphalt under bare feet, leather jacket sticky with more rum than coke, and hair carrying the distinctly singed smell of someone who should have their lighter taken away. It's a lungful of smoke, chasing the burn of alcohol down your throat, not long before a mouthful of cum. It's the dirty thrill of getting fucked in a stranger’s bathroom, spiked with just enough clarity to wonder exactly how many instances of sex in a stranger’s bathroom makes for a pattern. It's the filthy, smug satisfaction that comes from flirting with a guy whose twin sister you're already intimately acquainted with. The final drydown is a thick, hazy musk, faintly sweet and pierced by the lingering sharpness of opium; like a curl of smoke drifting over sheets that no amount of washing could make truly clean again. It's the kind of dirty that's more than just excess and indulgence, more than just especially devious sex acts; this is the filth of a line that's been well and truly crossed. This is trying to tease someone in a committed relationship into your bed just because you think you can. This is kissing both halves of a beautiful couple, separately and secretly, then waiting with bated breath for it all to crash down. This is driving out to the middle of nowhere with your best friend's ex at one in the morning because they're the only person you know who will bend you over and take their belt to you and like it. This is a scent that goes along with walking wide-eyed into bad decisions and bedrooms that you'd want to tumble into even if you were sober, that you won't tell anyone about even at your drunkest. I can't think of any occasion where it would be appropriate to wear this, but if it were appropriate for anything, it wouldn't be anywhere near as enjoyable.

Starts off almost painfully sweet, red and syrupy, with a light but distinct floral edge. Goes rosy very fast, but stays sweet and red. There's just a tinge of wine to it—like someone made a sugar syrup to dip the rose in, with just a slip of red wine. The dragon’s blood gives it a slightly sharper edge, but that just makes the rose slightly more realistic. For a while, the dragon's blood and red wine come out more and all three notes are out arm-in-arm; the combination gives the impression of a deep, red rose drenched in a syrup of spiced red wine. Then the rose pushes its way to the forefront, with the other notes only lingering just enough to dress it up and give it more dimension: the dragon's blood gives it a spicy edge, the red wine gives it a slightly drunken sweetness. Outstandingly flirty, but not necessarily sexual; it might tumble into bed with you enthusiastically or recoil when you lean over to whisper filthy nothings in its ear. It might aspire to seduction, but if it does, it certainly doesn't have the subtlety to pull it off. There's something about this scent that feels almost overeager and brash, but in a very feminine way, like a young woman trying to figure out how to be womanly. It's a dark red velvet dress cut daringly low and bandaids covering ankles that aren't yet used to high heels. It's lipstick prints left deliberately, delightedly. It's drinking a little too much, laughing a little too loud, trying too hard, but still charming despite it—perhaps even because of it. It reminds me of a line from Rebecca: "I wish I was a woman of about thirty-six dressed in black satin with a string of pearls." Not childish exactly, but almost painfully youthful in its desire to be older, more sophisticated than it really is. This isn't a perfume Rebecca would have worn, but perhaps it's the kind of perfume Maxim's second wife would imagine her wearing.

First try: powder, and then just warm skin. Not even sexy warm skin, just. Skin. Second try: I decided that since I already don't really like it, there's no point in being sparing with it. Slathered my wrist in O, with a good three dips of the wand, and that certainly seems to make a difference! The scent is recognizably honey now, though it still has that soft dryness to it--a bit like raw, crystallized honey, almost. There's also a distinctly floral tinge to it, not enough to make me think of actual flowers, but just enough to remind me of where honey comes from. It actually makes me think of a few lines from Hadestown: "the smell of the flowers she held in her hand, and the pollen that fell from her fingertips... and suddenly Hades was only a man, with the taste of nectar upon his lips." (Which actually really makes me wanna try this layered with Persephone...) There's still definitely nothing sexual going on here; if I was gonna pick out a mood, it would actually be a bit closer to sad? Even strangely wistful? Not innocence defiled so much as it is innocence with a painful awareness that its ending is inevitable, maybe even soon. Like that hazy part of late childhood / early teens, when you know your days of being carefree are limited. It's Alice's sister sitting on the bank, thinking of how Alice will have to grow up some day, or Ada drizzling honey on her bread in the morning light, as she watches Van walk away from her. It's skin sticky with honey and warm from the sunlight, and long, loose hair, dusted with pollen from rambling through the garden--sweet, a little playful, but ephemeral. It fades down to (again) just warm skin. And again, not sexy, just pleasantly warm, like a loving hug from a small child. Not what I want to smell like, but I think it'll be nice for writing certain scenes / characters.