(courtesy of Yoon)
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them -- She was the Universe.
Bottled gloom; the essence of oblivion. Blackest opium and narcissus deepened by myrrh.
Vial: Um. Some sort of cleaning fluid, I'm afraid.
Wet: Myrrh. And musk. I swear. I swear this smells like musk. What's with that? Oh, there the florals come. Nice, rich florals too. Wow, it really does smell like narcissus.
In a good way. On a wet morning, when the sun is hot.
Drydown: Floral, sweet, with depth.
Dry: It's sticking to the nice-ish floral, heavy, deep. Not a favorite, but I am content with it, for what it is. It's got a deep south summer night feeling to it.
So much for the cleaning fluid smell.