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Showing results for tags 'The Literary Vampire'.
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CLARIMONDE (La Morte Amoureuse, Theophile Gautier) I do not know whether it was an illusion or a reflection of the lamplight, but it seemed to me that the blood was again commencing to circulate under that lifeless pallor, although she remained all motionless. I laid my hand lightly on her arm; it was cold, but not colder than her hand on the day when it touched mine at the portals of the church. I resumed my position, bending my face above her, and bathing her cheeks with the warm dew of my tears. Ah, what bitter feelings of despair and helplessness, what agonies unutterable did I endure in that long watch! Vainly did I wish that I could have gathered all my life into one mass that I might give it all to her, and breathe into her chill remains the flame which devoured me. The night advanced, and feeling the moment of eternal separation approach, I could not deny myself the last sad sweet pleasure of imprinting a kiss upon the dead lips of her who had been my only love. . . . Oh, miracle! A faint breath mingled itself with my breath, and the mouth of Clarimonde responded to the passionate pressure of mine. Her eyes unclosed, and lighted up with something of their former brilliancy; she uttered a long sigh, and uncrossing her arms, passed them around my neck with a look of ineffable delight. "Ah, it is thou, Romuald!" she murmured in a voice languishingly sweet as the last vibrations of a harp. "What ailed thee, dearest? I waited so long for thee that I am dead; but we are now betrothed; I can see thee and visit thee. Adieu, Romuald, adieu! I love thee. That is all I wished to tell thee, and I give thee back the life which thy kiss for a moment recalled. We shall soon meet again." Her head fell back, but her arms yet encircled me, as though to retain me still. A furious whirlwind suddenly burst in the window, and entered the chamber. The last remaining leaf of the white rose for a moment palpitated at the extremity of the stalk like a butterfly's wing, then it detached itself and flew forth through the open casement, bearing with it the soul of Clarimonde. The lamp was extinguished, and I fell insensible upon the bosom of the beautiful dead. Pallid skin musk, white roses, and a languorous vapor of Oriental perfume. Oh man my first OP ever! And only my second review ever too. Boy am I nervous. The first thing I notice upon placing this on my skin is the white rose. It seems like a more restrained, slightly dry kind with a very slight sharpness and delicate sweetness, to my nose at least. Generally I love roses, though I find sometimes I am put off by the sharpness some varieties have. The barely there edge to this one is really nice, though! It’s an almost youthful, pure rose (after I read the story this was based on that is almost ironic, but it 'fits' the idea of Clarimonde to me). I can smell the “oriental perfume” aspect floating just behind the rose. I am debating what it might be, still. I could be totally off the mark but there may be amber in there. It reminds me of the “idea” of oriental perfume from a bygone era, actually. Is that you amber...? It's perdy. The skin musk note is floating around vaguely in the forefront now it's warmed up, it’s my first experience with “skin musk”. It comes off to me as a light, slightly fragile musk. There is something antique and lady-like about this blend that is pleasing in it’s simplicity. Not much throw for me. A very "pale" scent. Overall; I am afraid that this may translate as the “old lady rose perfume” to some! But if you are into scents that evoke the elegance of bygone eras, this may be one to look into. I certainly am! Now I have the urge to design something… I dunno… maybe Victorian inspired to wear with this. UPDATE Sept 16 2009: I have been wearing Clarimonde to death and will have to break my #1 rule and let myself get backup bottles for the first time EVER I am already 1/3 of the way through the bottle I received last month, and this is coming from someone who makes a single bottle last a several years.
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The Girl actually reminds me a lot of Bath and Body Works' brown sugar vanilla scent, except waay more sinister. I was on the fence about this one for a while. It's got the kind of appeal that makes Snow White so popular. All the aspects are so well blended and you've probably never smelled anything quite like it. I think my indecision was due to the fact that I'd get a waft and be like "That is just so God damn creepy." For such a pretty scent it squicked me out to the point where I didn't want much to do with it. It's been a couple years and I'd like to try it again. It's so hard to find though, I wish they'd bring it back next Weenie time.
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MIRCALLA, COUNTESS KARNSTEIN (Carmilla, Sheridan LeFanu) Sometimes after an hour of apathy, my strange and beautiful companion would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, renewed again and again; blushing softly, gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes, and breathing so fast that her dress rose and fell with the tumultuous respiration. It was like the ardor of a lover; it embarrassed me; it was hateful and yet over-powering; and with gloating eyes she drew me to her, and her hot lips traveled along my cheek in kisses; and she would whisper, almost in sobs, "You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one for ever." Then she had thrown herself back in her chair, with her small hands over her eyes, leaving me trembling. Languid, melancholy fire: red musk, purple orchid, frankincense, smoky vanilla, Styrian herbs, peru balsam, tonka, Zanzibar clove, and patchouli. Wow. This is one freakin' gorgeous and sexy scent. At first it's mostly spice form the clove with the other scents in the background, but quickly the other notes begin to appear. I can pick up the red musk, frankincense, and patchouli, and the vanilla adds a really wonderful smoky sweetness. After it's been on a little while I can catch hints of herbs, but nothing I can pin down and they are light enough that this is in no way and herbal scent. The orchid is surprisingly faint and adds a touch of femininity to the blend. Also, for those of you that are scared off by red musk, don't be. It is not a a blend that screams red musk and it is really well blended here. Honestly, this is even better than I expected and I am sooo happy I bought a bottle right off. Back up bottles will find their way into future orders. ETA: Wow, this just keeps getting better and better. It's become richer and a bit sweeter and the red musk comes and goes. It is really really gorgeous.
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ARIADNE BRUNNELL (The Vampire Maid, Hume Nisbet) This contact seemed also to have affected her as it did me; a clear flush, like a white flame, lighted up her face, so that it glowed as if an alabaster lamp had been lit; her black eyes became softer and more humid as our glances crossed, and her scarlet lips grew moist. She was a living woman now, while before she had seemed half a corpse. She permitted her white slender hand to remain in mine longer than most people do at an introduction, and then she slowly withdrew it, still regarding me with steadfast eyes for a second or two afterwards. Fathomless velvety eyes these were, yet before they were shifted from mine they appeared to have absorbed all my willpower and made me her abject slave. They looked like deep dark pools of clear water, yet they filled me with fire and deprived me of strength. I sank into my chair almost as languidly as I had risen from my bed that morning. Yet I made a good breakfast, and although she hardly tasted anything, this strange girl rose much refreshed and with a slight glow of colour on her cheeks, which improved her so greatly that she appeared younger and almost beautiful. I had come here seeking solitude, but since I had seen Ariadne it seemed as if I had come for her only. She was not very lively; indeed, thinking back, I cannot recall any spontaneous remark of hers; she answered my questions by monosyllables and left me to lead in words; yet she was insinuating and appeared to lead my thoughts in her direction and speak to me with her eyes. I cannot describe her minutely, I only know that from the first glance and touch she gave me I was bewitched and could think of nothing else. It was a rapid, distracting, and devouring infatuation that possessed me; all day long I followed her about like a dog, every night I dreamed of that white glowing face, those steadfast black eyes, those moist scarlet lips, and each morning I rose more languid than I had been the day before. Sometimes I dreamt that she was kissing me with those red lips, while I shivered at the contact of her silky black tresses as they covered my throat; sometimes that we were floating in the air, her arms about me and her long hair enveloping us both like an inky cloud, while I lay supine and helpless. Poppy flowers, peat, sphagnum moss, gardenia, and white water lily. Gardenia given depth by the Poppy and a light hearted sweetness from Water Lily. There's the merest hint of some earthy notes. I adore this, it is really a beautiful, very classy floral. Not over done. This might work for people who've not had much success with Florals. This seems like a cousin of I Died For Beauty. After testing again last night & this morning: Last night, the mossy elements came out much more and this verged on being close to unisex. This morning, I got a whisper of something that put "powder" into my head but before I could decide my attention was drawn to how thin a scent this is. This seems like a rather prim, pallid Victorian vampire. After reading a synopsis of the story and the excerpt, I'd say it's a good evocation of Ariadne Brunnell
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SARAH (The Tomb of Sarah, F.G. Loring) By half-past ten we were both getting very tired, and I began to think that perhaps after all we should see nothing that night. However, soon after eleven we observed a light mist rising from the 'Sarah Tomb'. It seemed to scintillate and sparkle as it rose, and curled in a sort of pillar or spiral. I said nothing, but I heard the Rector give a sort of gasp as he clutched my arm feverishly. 'Great Heaven!' he whispered, 'it is taking shape.' And, true enough, in a very few moments we saw standing erect by the tomb the ghastly figure of the Countess Sarah! She looked thin and haggard still, and her face was deadly white; but the crimson lips looked like a hideous gash in the pale cheeks, and her eyes glared like red coals in the gloom of the church. Unholy mist congealing into soft, white flesh, with black marble, remnants of liturgical incense, wolf's fur, and black flecks of froth. I've never been the first to review a scent... here goes! I had to try Sarah because of our shared name, and also because of the intriguing description. Black froth???! For me, Sarah calls to mind an old, abandoned church. The windows have been broken out, rot and mildew have set in, and the only visitors are wild beasts foraging for food. The marble altar is cold and wet with a layer of fuzz growing on it. The incense smoke was so thick in previous years that it became embedded into the pews and wall hangings, never to fade away completely, but now it is combined with the dusty, funky scent of thick animal fur. It's not an instant favorite. The mildew/mist note is kind of a turn-off, and the marble, incense, and fur notes are subtle and, at times, barely discernable. It's not a powerful enough scent, overall, for me to love it.
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LORD RUTHVEN (the Vampyre, John Polidori) It happened that in the midst of the dissipations attendant upon London winter, there appeared at the various parties of the leaders of the ton a nobleman more remarkable for his singularities, than his rank. He gazed upon the mirth around him, as if he could not participate therein. Apparently, the light laughter of the fair only attracted his attention, that he might by a look quell it and throw fear into those breasts where thoughtlessness reigned. Those who felt this sensation of awe, could not explain whence it arose: some attributed it to the dead grey eye, which, fixing upon the object's face, did not seem to penetrate, and at one glance to pierce through to the inward workings of the heart; but fell upon the cheek with a leaden ray that weighed upon the skin it could not pass. His peculiarities caused him to be invited to every house; all wished to see him, and those who had been accustomed to violent excitement, and now felt the weight of ennui, were pleased at having something in their presence capable of engaging their attention. In spite of the deadly hue of his face, which never gained a wanner tint, either from the blush of modesty, or from the strong emotion of passion, though its form and outline were beautiful, many of the female hunters after notoriety attempted to win his attentions, and gain, at least, some marks of what they might term affection: Lady Mercer, who had been the mockery of every monster shewn in drawing-rooms since her marriage, threw herself in his way, and did all but put on the dress of a mountebank, to attract his notice -- though in vain; -- when she stood before him, though his eyes were apparently fixed upon hers, still it seemed as if they were unperceived; -- even her unappalled impudence was baffled, and she left the field. But though the common adultress could not influence even the guidance of his eyes, it was not that the female sex was indifferent to him: yet such was the apparent caution with which he spoke to the virtuous wife and innocent daughter, that few knewhenever addressed himself to females. He had, however, the reputation of a winning tongue; and whether it was that it even overcame the dread of his singular character, or that they were moved by his apparent hatred of vice, he was as often among those females who form the boast of their sex from their domestic virtues, as among those who sully it by their vices. The father of all dandy aristocrat vampires: Aqua Admirabilis with polished boot leather and blood. In bottle: Very aftershave. Lavender fougere and leather with a hint of the aquatic. Wet: Vaguely herbal. It’s an excellent masculine leather scent. The vaguely aquatic touch adds interest to the leather/fougere blend. Dry: Unusual. It’s still a leather dominant aftershave, but it has teeth and… powder. The blood is more noticeable. The whole effect is weirdly viscous and a little unsettling.
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COUNTESS DOLINGEN OF GRATZ (Dracula's Guest, the omitted introduction to Bram Stoker's Dracula) Now and again, through the black mass of drifting cloud, came a straggling ray of moonlight, which lit up the expanse, and showed me that I was at the edge of a dense mass of cypress and yew trees. As the snow had ceased to fall, I walked out from the shelter and began to investigate more closely. It appeared to me that, amongst so many old foundations as I had passed, there might be still standing a house in which, though in ruins, I could find some sort of shelter for a while. As I skirted the edge of the copse, I found that a low wall encircled it, and following this I presently found an opening. Here the cypresses formed an alley leading up to a square mass of some kind of building. Just as I caught sight of this, however, the drifting clouds obscured the moon, and I passed up the path in darkness. The wind must have grown colder, for I felt myself shiver as I walked; but there was hope of shelter, and I groped my way blindly on. I stopped, for there was a sudden stillness. The storm had passed; and, perhaps in sympathy with nature's silence, my heart seemed to cease to beat. But this was only momentarily; for suddenly the moonlight broke through the clouds, showing me that I was in a graveyard, and that the square object before me was a great massive tomb of marble, as white as the snow that lay on and all around it. With the moonlight there came a fierce sigh of the storm, which appeared to resume its course with a long, low howl, as of many dogs or wolves. I was awed and shocked, and felt the cold perceptibly grow upon me till it seemed to grip me by the heart. Then while the flood of moonlight still fell on the marble tomb, the storm gave further evidence of renewing, as though it was returning on its track. Impelled by some sort of fascination, I approached the sepulchre to see what it was, and why such a thing stood alone in such a place. I walked around it, and read, over the Doric door, in German: COUNTESS DOLINGEN OF GRATZ IN STYRIA SOUGHT AND FOUND DEATH 1801 On the top of the tomb, seemingly driven through the solid marble-for the structure was composed of a few vast blocks of stone-was a great iron spike or stake. On going to the back I saw, graven in great Russian letters: 'The dead travel fast.' There was something so weird and uncanny about the whole thing that it gave me a turn and made me feel quite faint. I began to wish, for the first time, that I had taken Johann's advice. Here a thought struck me, which came under almost mysterious circumstances and with a terrible shock. This was Walpurgis Night! Walpurgis Night, when, according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad-when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked. When all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. This very place the driver had specially shunned. This was the depopulated village of centuries ago. This was where the suicide lay; and this was the place where I was alone-unmanned, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a wild storm gathering again upon me! It took all my philosophy, all the religion I had been taught, all my courage, not to collapse in a paroxysm of fright. And now a perfect tornado burst upon me. The ground shook as though thousands of horses thundered across it; and this time the storm bore on its icy wings, not snow, but great hailstones which drove with such violence that they might have come from the thongs of Balearic slingers-hailstones that beat down leaf and branch and made the shelter of the cypresses of no more avail than though their stems were standing-corn. At the first I had rushed to the nearest tree; but I was soon fain to leave it and seek the only spot that seemed to afford refuge, the deep Doric doorway of the marble tomb. There, crouching against the massive bronze door, I gained a certain amount of protection from the beating of the hailstones, for now they only drove against me as they ricocheted from the ground and the side of the marble. As I leaned against the door, it moved slightly and opened inwards. The shelter of even a tomb was welcome in that pitiless tempest, and I was about to enter it when there came a flash of forked-lightning that lit up the whole expanse of the heavens. In the instant, as I am a living man, I saw, as my eyes were turned into the darkness of the tomb, a beautiful woman, with rounded cheeks and red lips, seemingly sleeping on a bier. As the thunder broke overhead, I was grasped as by the hand of a giant and hurled out into the storm. The whole thing was so sudden that, before I could realise the shock, moral as well as physical, I found the hailstones beating me down. At the same time I had a strange, dominating feeling that I was not alone. I looked towards the tomb. Just then there came another blinding flash, which seemed to strike the iron stake that surmounted the tomb and to pour through to the earth, blasting and crumbling the marble, as in a burst of flame. The dead woman rose for a moment of agony, while she was lapped in the flame, and her bitter scream of pain was drowned in the thundercrash. The last thing I heard was this mingling of dreadful sound, as again I was seized in the giant-grasp and dragged away, while the hailstones beat on me, and the air around seemed reverberant with the howling of wolves. The last sight that I remembered was a vague, white, moving mass, as if all the graves around me had sent out the phantoms of their sheeted-dead, and that they were closing in on me through the white cloudiness of the driving hail. Hailstone-pounded cypress boughs, olibanum, and an ozone blast of lightning. First of all, as you can tell from the description, this does indeed have a big shot of ozone! I've never had a problem with ozone, but if you do, you probably already know this scent isn't for you. Okay.....with that out of the way, this scent will be very familiar if you like the Lab's aquatic and wintery scents, especially Archangel Winter*, but the olibanum does set this apart. I guess olibanum is frankincense, and it brings a little more richness to this scent. And then as the scent dries, the cypress starts to come out, just adding a slight woody element. It's very ozone and icy, fierce winds blowing hail through the tree-tops, and sweet in that slightly fruity way that the fresh-water aquatics can be. So.....no real surprises for me here, but definitely something I can wear, since I love this kind of scent. My only problem with aquatics is that they can be hard to tell apart, but that just makes it more fun to try them all! This one is somewhere between Archangel Winter and Eanach Duin, maybe with a touch of Death Of The Gravedigger. *Edit: After some comparison/testing, this definitely does not smell like Archangel Winter and I'm sorry if I misled anyone. Maybe it was the Snow Storm that I'm thinking of, I tend to get them confused. The Countess has a lot more wood than Archangel Winter (which has no wood at all that I can smell).
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CRISTINA (For the Blood is the Life by F. Marion Crawford) He was near the village now; it was half an hour since the sun had set, and the cracked church bell sent little discordant echoes across the rocks and ravines to tell all good people that the day was done. Angelo stood still a moment where the path forked, where it led toward the village on the left, and down to the gorge on the right, where a clump of chestnut trees overhung the narrow way. He stood still a minute, lifting his battered hat from his head and gazing at the fast-fading sea westward, and his lips moved as he silently repeated the familiar evening prayer. His lips moved, but the words that followed them in his brain lost their meaning and turned into others, and ended in a name that he spoke aloud -- Cristina! With the name, the tension of his will relaxed suddenly, reality went out and the dream took him again, and bore him on swiftly and surely like a man walking in his sleep, down, down, by the steep path in the gathering darkness. And as she glided beside him, Cristina whispered strange, sweet things in his ear, which somehow, if he had been awake, he knew that he could not quite have understood; but now they were the most wonderful words he had ever heard in his life. And she kissed him also, but not upon his mouth. He felt her sharp kisses upon his white throat, and he knew that her lips were red. So the wild dream sped on through twilight and darkness and moonrise, and all the glory of the summer's night. But in the chilly dawn he lay as one half dead upon the mound down there, recalling and not recalling, drained of his blood, yet strangely longing to give those red lips more. Then came the fear, the awful nameless panic, the mortal horror that guards the confines of the world we see not, neither know of as we know of other things, but which we feel when its icy chill freezes our bones and stirs our hair with the touch of a ghostly hand. Once more Angelo sprang from the mound and fled up the gorge in the breaking day, but his step was less sure this time, and he panted for breath as he ran; and when he came to the bright spring of water that rises half way up the hillside, he dropped upon his knees and hands and plunged his whole face in and drank as he had never drunk before -- for it was the thirst of the wounded man who has lain bleeding all night upon the battle-field. She had him fast now, and he could not escape her, but would come to her every evening at dusk until she had drained him of his last drop of blood. It was in vain that when the day was done he tried to take another turning and to go home by a path that did not lead near the gorge. It was in vain that he made promises to himself each morning at dawn when he climbed the lonely way up from the shore to the village. It was all in vain, for when the sun sank burning into the sea, and the coolness of the evening stole out as from a hiding-place to delight the weary world, his feet turned toward the old way, and she was waiting for him in the shadow under the chestnut trees; and then all happened as before, and she fell to kissing his white throat even as she flitted lightly down the way, winding one arm about him. Chestnut trees, juniper berries, violet leaf, labdanum, dazzling, moonlit white musk, and night-blooming summer flowers. Wow, I love this one! Smells like buttery chestnuts and sweet florals and yet there's a sophisticated loneliness in the sharpness of the musk....nom nom nom. I can see a big bottle of this in my future. Nom.
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JULIA STONE (The Room in the Tower, E.F. Benson.) And then, with a sudden start of unexplained dismay, I saw that there were two rather conspicuous objects which I had not seen before in my dreams: one a life-sized oil painting of Mrs. Stone, the other a black-and-white sketch of Jack Stone, representing him as he had appeared to me only a week before in the last of the series of these repeated dreams, a rather secret and evil-looking man of about thirty. His picture hung between the windows, looking straight across the room to the other portrait, which hung at the side of the bed. At that I looked next, and as I looked I felt once more the horror of nightmare seize me. It represented Mrs. Stone as I had seen her last in my dreams: old and withered and white-haired. But in spite of the evident feebleness of body, a dreadful exuberance and vitality shone through the envelope of flesh, an exuberance wholly malign, a vitality that foamed and frothed with unimaginable evil. Evil beamed from the narrow, leering eyes; it laughed in the demon-like mouth. The whole face was instinct with some secret and appalling mirth; the hands, clasped together on the knee, seemed shaking with suppressed and nameless glee. Then I saw also that it was signed in the left-hand bottom corner, and wondering who the artist could be, I looked more closely, and read the inscription, "Julia Stone by Julia Stone." Rotting once-white fabric, spotted with mold. I just had to try this, because it seemed not many other peolpe wanted to, and I have a thing for the underdog sometimes. : ) The first thoughts I had were "green" and "fresh", not mildew-y or rotted at all. It reminds me of an aquatic scent that has been dried out. And by aquatic I mean one of the sweeter ones, a little fruity, not cologney in my opinion. But.....the 'fabric' note adds a dry element to this scent, so that it ends up not really being aquatic, just reminiscent of aquatic. As it dries, it strikes me that this is a complex scent. Here and there I get hints of plant-like greenness, sort of a freshly cut stem note, just hints of that though. I also start to smell little 'flashes' of something dark, but that could be the power of suggestion. After all, I was expecting to smell something moldy, so I was actually surprised at how sweet this is. For the record, my nose tends to pick out sweeter notes more than usual, for example, I get a lot of 'sweetness' out of Oblivion. And I should add, there is nearly a powdery element to this scent, almost powdery but not quite. It's actually really nice and I think it will be more popular once people get 'wind' of it. If you like the green quality of Velvet Cthulhu, you may like this as well. I think it's similar to that but softer and sweeter, without the zippy bite that V.C. has. Edit to add.....after a while, this becomes even more dry and more powdery. At this point it reminds me of 51, with the addition of linen or fabric. It still has that sweetness.
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PERLE VON MAUREN (Revelations in Black, Carl Jacobi) I stumbled forward, my eyes quickly accustoming themselves to the half-light from the almost opaque windows. At the end of the corridor a second door barred my passage. I thrust it open - and stood swaying there on the sill staring inward. Beyond was a small room, barely ten feet square, with a low-raftered ceiling. And by the light of the open door I saw side by side in the center of the floor - two white wood coffins. How long I stood there leaning weakly against the stone wall I don't know. There was an odor drifting from out of that chamber. Heliotrope! But heliotrope defiled by the rotting smell of an ancient grave. Then suddenly I leaped to the nearest coffin, seized its cover and ripped it open. Would to heaven I could forget that sight that met my eyes. There the woman in black - unveiled. That face - it was divinely beautiful, the hair black as sable, the cheeks a classic white. But the lips - ! I grew suddenly sick as I looked upon them. They were scarlet.... and sticky with human blood. Heliotrope, grave soil, and blood. O.M.Gee! YES! I get to be the first reviewer on a scent! Hehe, sorry. I've just been wanting to do this since 2007. Hope I do this right. OK, my bottle just arrived this afternoon, and here are my impressions: In bottle : Sweet, a little powdery, ethereal. I can definitely smell the tang of the "blood" note, and I assume the sweetness is the heliotrope. The dirt note is there, but not as strong as in, say, Graveyard Dirt 2008, Premature Burial or Zombi. On me, wet: At first I get a burst of sweetness, almost like honey. Not exactly cloying, but definitely very nectar-y. After a moment, the sweetness becomes powdery, almost talcum. This must be the heliotrope. If I sniff really hard, I can almost smell the dirt. dry down: Sweet and light, almost pure heliotrope (I'm guessing). The dirt is still very, very light, but comes out a little stronger as the scent dries further. A very, very dusty light floral. verdict: I'm a little disappointed. I had really hoped that this one would be earthy and bloody, but it's sweet and effervescent -- kind of what I thought The Girl would be. Fans of Heliotrope and skin musk (which isn't one of the ingredients, but which mimics it perfectly on me) will probably love this one. People who are cautious around dirt scents probably don't have a lot to worry about. ETA: Wow. On second thought, I think this may just be a scent that I need to put on in larger quantities. When I dabbed on a little more, I found that I liked it better. It's definitely a soft and very weird scent for me, but that's not really a bad thing. Not really sure if I'll ever try another perfume with a heliotrope top note, though, since I think this floral may not be my thing. Throw is average to a little below average on me, and I'm guessing it's wear-length will be short to average. Not sure if I want to keep this one yet.
