Hello, Dark Soul!
In a world of hollow fragrances, Necros Fragrance craft scents steeped in dark tales, lost loves, and curses.
Necros Fragrance was born in 2025 from an obsession with what lingers after life vanishes — the scent that clings to an empty room, the stillness between gravestones, the breath of something you can’t quite see. From the start, perfume was never just about smelling beautiful. It was a vessel. A way to summon, to bind, to keep the dead close.
Its creator, with a background in psychology and a lifelong pull toward the occult, treats perfumery like an act of necromancy. Every vial is a drawn circle. Every drop, an unspoken word. Resins, woods, musks, and rare synthetics aren’t just ingredients — they’re pieces of an altar, placed with precision and charged with intent.
For Necros, death isn’t an ending. It’s a shape you can hold in your hands. These perfumes speak the language of black magic and old rites — invocations built not to comfort, but to summon. Each fragrance carries the shadow of something that shouldn’t return… yet does.
We make perfumes for those who linger at the threshold, who know that beauty and death often share the same skin. In Necros, every accord is a spell, every note a binding, every bottle an afterimage from the other side.
Our perfumes are cruelty-free, IFRA-compliant, and made in small, deliberate batches in Belgium. Every ingredient is chosen for clarity, potency, and persistence. The old ways aren’t gone — they’re sealed in glass, waiting for you to break them open.
In those times when forests still had names and rivers were considered alive, scents were not created — they were summoned. Not everyone had the right to do this. Only those who knew how to listen to the earth, who understood that fire speaks, and when silence is more dangerous than words.
The scent was not born in daylight. It was born in twilight — between evening and night, when boundaries grow thin and the breath of ancestors feels closer than the wind. A fire was lit within a circle of stones, and into it fell dark, sticky resins from trees that had seen more than humans ever would.
The smoke rose slowly, carrying the memory of the forest, roots sunk deep into time. At that moment, herbs were gathered not by sight, but by intuition. One grew in marshlands where the earth whispers; another at the forest’s edge, where it is said old spirits still wander.
Their bitterness and sweetness were not balanced by taste, but by signs.
Into the mixture went things that cannot be described:
the dampness of night, ashes from ancient altars, petals kept beside the dead so they could find their way.
This was not done to please.
It was done to remember.
When the scent touched the skin, there was no question of whether it suited you — only a sensation, as if the body recognized an old mark, as if something long forgotten had been invited to return.
This scent does not reveal itself at once. At first, it recalls earth and smoke; later, the warmth hidden beneath ashes; and finally, a sweetness that does not seduce, but remains quiet and mournful, like wreaths woven not for beauty, but for passage.
This is not a scent for everyone.
It chooses.
It stays with those who still feel ancient roots in their bones, who dream of forests even while living among walls, who understand that nature is not a backdrop — it is a guardian.
You do not wear it to be noticed.
You wear it to remember that others came before you, that scent is a bond, that fire is still alive, and that the forest is listening.
And when it lingers on your skin, it does not mean that it belongs to you.
It means that you have become part of it.
The Perfumer
My name is Vita Kazlauskaitė.
I am the founder, the architect, and the necromancer behind Necros Fragrance.
Before this, I walked corridors lined with glass and steel. Eight years in corporate command, mastering communication, persuasion, and business. I lectured at universities, stood on stages, and wore the masks that the world applauds. But the light there was sterile. The silence was the wrong kind.
The shadows have always called to me—long before I learned to weigh resins and tinctures. They live in the folds of my Lithuanian heritage: in the damp breath of forests, in the unmarked graves of history, in the dreams that rot quietly beneath the skin.
For nearly a decade, I’ve taught myself perfumery—not through classrooms, but through instinct, obsession, and practice. I collect raw materials the way others collect relics: resins black as earth, musks as thin as breath, aldehydes that cut like ice, woods that smolder like ashes. Each material is a key. Each blend is an incantation.
With a degree in Psychology and a Master of Science in Integrated Communication, I understand both the fragility of human desire and the symbols that haunt us. I know how scent clings to memory like a ghost, how it can resurrect grief or ignite desire with a single inhale. I do not just build perfumes; I channel voices from the other side, binding them in glass.
Here, in the lab, every vial is a vessel. They shine like the wings of moths, holding fragments of memory, shadows of rituals, whispers from the border between life and death. I do not create perfumes. I summon them. I give them form. They are beautiful because they are not from here. They are dangerous because they are true.
Necros is not just a brand.
It is a place where death takes shape—
and every bottle is a haunting.
Spooky wishes and ghostly hugs,
Vita
Our first collection is here
