The Veil Falls Like Leaves

[doomsday_disco]

The shed of autumn is a fiery blaze of reds, oranges, and yellows, their embers raining down and collecting at my feet. Each leaf that falls thins the veil between the worlds, between the crisp exhilaration of the fall and the barren stillness of winter.

 

November wind is the prelude to the ghosts of the year, when the stories are still being whispered through the woods before the silence of snow.

 

An explosion of autumn:

Leaves, Vanilla, and Leather.

[Grim]

So this is FRESH out if the mail. In the bottle and wet on skin, immediately strong dead leaves and nothing else. It eventually fades into (to me) notes that don’t exist in it. I no longer smell leaves, but it does smell exactly light 90s Goth from Black Baccara, minus the clove. It smells like dark waxy lipstick and hairspray. I enjoy it, and it’s pleasant, but not what I was expecting or hoping for.  

[ghoulnextdoor]

Found your local bog witch at the gallery fundraiser, trailing damp, earthy autumn leaves in her wake, each step releasing whispers of sweet autumnal decay and sour, earthy fungi. The wild things clean up nice but never quite lose their feral heart - you smell it in the manky, softly rotting vegetation that lingers beneath her gallery-appropriate veneer. This is autumn's sophisticated glow up, where decaying harvest and sweet-tempered spice mingle in the air. As the night deepens, something softer emerges: traces of leather and posh vanilla shampoo, like a well-worn jacket catching the scent of damp, moss-tendriled hair, adding an unexpected intimacy to all that earthen wisdom.