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Showing results for tags 'The Tell-Tale Heart'.
Found 14 results
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Polished mahogany blanketed by myrrh. This is smooth mahogany with silky myrrh. So good. So glad I bought this from the lab. It's just lovely. This will age well.
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It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever. Milky white fluid obfuscating a pale, lilac-blue iris. In the bottle this is all milk.Which frightened me as I often turn milky notes sour on my skin. Skin test: OK this is quite a fresh milky scent on my skin with a very faint 'purple tinge' I think the lavender keeps this from going sour. Minimal throw and minimal lasting power, however I like this fresh creamy scent
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I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim. A jubilant and deranged lime absinthe. The lime is particularly prominent on wet, and it reminds me to the limes you find in margarita mixes, and then you get the same absinthe note that you get in Pumpkin Spice Absinthe. This is a very lime Absinthe, and I LOVE IT. For all of you that love absinthe-based blends, gives this a whirl. It's like absinthe decided to go to Mexico and adopted limes as a component. Medium throw and wear length.
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The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. Rum cakes and black tea, blueberry scones and biscuits. On my skin, wet: Kinda sour, a little bit boozy On my skin, dry: Boozy fruity muffins After several hours: Sugary fruity muffins with a splash of booziness
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No doubt I now grew very pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? An erratic pomegranate mint, high-pitched and flailing with eucalyptus, above a throbbing core of black musk. In the bottle: Dominated by the musk and eucalptus, with mint following and a vague, hard to identify fruitiness. Wet on skin: Stronger mint and eucalptus with that the musk to round it out, with that same sweetness as in the bottle. Dry on skin: Very well-balanced, softly masculine but with a sweetness that keeps it from really being manly. Clean without being astringent. On me, the pomegranate never really smells specifically like pomegranate; it comes across as slightly tangy note that keeps this one really interesting and very complex. This one is wonderful - definitely a keeper. ETA: This is actually my new favorite.
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Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief oh, no! it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. Opaque grey amber and opoponax swelling up like thick smoke, pressed under the weight of baleful tobacco. The grey amber, opoponax and smoke blend really well. The tobacco gets strong for a minute and then it backs off and you are left with this mildly sweet tobacco and grey amber scent. This will age well and is extremely well blended. I love it!
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I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself — “It is nothing but the wind in the chimney — it is only a mouse crossing the floor,” or “It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.” Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel — although he neither saw nor heard — to feel the presence of my head within the room. Unutterable dread: thick black patchouli, shadow musk, myrrh, and threads of hot saffron mired in sweet, viscous labdanum. Mournful Influence reminds me of Midnight Mass plus saffron (paella on Christmas Eve?). The saffron and myrrh are very pronounced with an overall vibe of dark, dusty, and slightly sweet. I believe it needs to age some; right now there is very little throw. I like this scent a lot and shall certainly wear it when striking fear into old men's hearts and chucking.
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And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old mans heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. Hyper-aware, swirling with delusions: orange blossom, lemon balm, and clove. I love this, its very pretty. The lemon balm is super lemony, a plus for me. Very fresh.
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But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. Blood musk and pulsating black pepper, a throb of bitter almond, and cracked pimento. Blood musk, spiked with almond and pepper. This is a peppery musky blend that I can see being well in the Ars Draconis line. Red, dirty, musky. Good throw and wear length.
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Mist-shrouded pine and moonflower creeping over flaccid opium poppies. One of the best things about this Tell-Tale Heart collection is that each of the scents really do paint a picture of the exact scenario described, covering a wide base of moods and private horrors within one person's swift descent into madness. The palette of each blend includes flashes and colors and characterizations that set it apart from the others, but they're definitely all part of the same story. I'm a sucker for a pine scent and am wild for Black Forest, so I was very curious about this one. Whereas most of the collection depicts the character's internal state, this one is a reminder of the story's setting. As such, it is a bit smoother and more calm, though the pine note reaches upward in a way that communicates the rising dread of being awake and alone late at night. That piney nerve-jangle consistently pokes through the blanket of mist and dark flower base notes. In the bottle, all I get is the pine -- not the dry scruffy pine of "This Is Our Wilderness," more like the damp juicy pine of Black Forest. Within a few minutes on the skin, the poppy and moonflower and mist have all risen to cloak the pine, just as in the description, creating a landscape where the only dominant effect is darkness. So, if you're worried about smelling like a Christmas tree, this one shouldn't be a problem for you. (That comes later, with the Yule update!) Whereas Black Forest dries down to a sweet black musk, I can tell already that I'm going to be left with a gentle whiff of opium as this evaporates.
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If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs. I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye — not even his — could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all — ha! ha! When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o’clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises. Clean wood floors, a clean tub, clean, clean, clean, with no stain of any kind, no blood-spot whatsoever. Embalming Fluid, is that you? It's like you crossed Mr. Clean with Embalming Fluid. There's a slightly soapy drydown which just smells clean. Low throw and wear length.
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The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story. Hearken and observe: black iris, French lavender, Roman chamomile, and frankincense. In the decant: Mostly black iris, followed by lavender and chamomile. Wet: The black iris note reigns, still followed by the lavender and chamomile, but then the frankincense emerges and starts gaining strength pretty quickly. But then the lavender reasserts itself, so that it's mostly the iris and lavender. Dry: The black iris note continues to reign, and it's so strong, and it, combined with the sharpness of this particular lavender, are threatening to give me a headache, sadly. Verdict: I was hoping this might be a wonderful sleep blend, but alas, it's not really for me. Still, I think it the iris and lavender certainly make this loud and sharp and fitting for its namesake. If you're a fan of iris, you'll probably enjoy this, but it's just too much for me.
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When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye. It was open wide, wide open and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old mans face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot. A dim ray upon the vulture eye: smoked violets and bulbous orris, threads of crumbling lavender, and wet iris butter. These are still settling from the trip to me, but I just had to review. I'll change this if the scent changes when it settles down. This is an incredible violet, iris, and lavender blend. Dark and spectral at the same time. The iris and lavender blend so perfectly that while I can smell both, I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. The violet (which I assume is also orris here) gives it just a hint of sweetness, but it's a darker and smokier violet than I've encountered in any BPAL violet scent other than Bruised Violet Compound. In fact, this is like a lighter but slightly menacing version of BVC. Throw length seems to be about average on me, but my skin likes to devour oils, so ymmv. Definitely pick it up if you like any of the three notes. It showcases each of them really well.
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Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. Percolating with derangement: flashing spikes of orange blossom, neroli, lemon, and bitter clove in a bubbling mass of opoponax, patchouli, and thick, black vetiver. For now, neroli and clove are the stars of this scent, with a base of opoponax and vetiver. It's not a patchouli-heavy fragrance, though time might bring that note forward a bit more. I feel that the orange blossom and lemon make the briefest appearance when it's first applied. It's kind of cozy and appropriate for cooler weather, without a lot of throw, but it has good staying power on me. Even though there's no wood in it, I can feel the wooden floorboards that creak beneath the narrator's feet as he goes about the week before committing the murder. There's something familiar about this, maybe like a soap that I once used, and yet it doesn't actually smell at all soapy. It feels somehow more expensive than it is. I think it would suit all genders. I have to say that I don't get any impressions of madness, but maybe I'm just a little too familiar with madness to notice.
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