Doll-like Creature

Soft, pale, and unsettling. A delicate fragrance with a powdery, porcelain-like sweetness, touched by cold skin, faded fabric, and the strange innocence of something that was never truly alive. It smells beautiful at first  then you start feeling watched.

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Alone I Crawl

Intimate, quiet, and deeply human. A skin-close fragrance with soft darkness, muted moss, rain, tears, and the feeling of being alone with your thoughts for too long. It is not dramatic in the obvious way  it creeps closer, like loneliness learning your body by heart.

In Absentia Dei

Narcotic incense and dark oriental gourmand devotion. Sacred smoke, resin, sweetness, and blasphemous warmth gather like prayer in an abandoned church. It smells rich, heavy, and forbidden  like holiness after God has left the room.

Vivos Plango, Mortuos Voco

A ritual bell in perfume form. Metallic brightness, solemn incense, cold stone, and the echo of old churches. It carries the feeling of a cathedral after the mourners have left: wax still melting, air still trembling, the living called forward and the dead refusing to stay silent.

We are All Created Evil

Dark, wet, humid, and corrupt in the most elegant way. A perfume of original sin: resins, dampness, skin, smoke, and a slow-burning depth that feels both sacred and forbidden. It does not ask whether you are innocent. It already knows the answer.

Lace of Vėlės

A veil between worlds. Soft, spectral, and mournful, with the feeling of old lace, pale florals, cold air, and spirits gathering quietly at the edge of a room. It smells like remembrance: not sharp grief, but the delicate presence of those who never fully left.

Corpse of a Star

Cold, radiant, and cosmic. A strange atmospheric scent built around the idea of light after death: mineral shadows, dark air, distant smoke, and something almost celestial collapsing into ash. It smells like the last glow of something enormous disappearing in the black.

Whispers of Demons

Dark comfort with teeth. Warm rum, bourbon vanilla, resinous shadows, and a demonic sweetness that feels like being offered shelter by something you should not trust. Cozy, addictive, and slightly wrong the kind of warmth that appears after midnight and asks no questions.

Tell the Bees

Dark honey, beeswax, old wood, incense smoke, and July flowers at dusk. Inspired by the old ritual of telling the bees when someone has died, this is not a pretty honey perfume. It is honey for the dead, wax for the living, and the soft buzzing of grief outside a wooden house.