A narcotic, erotic black mass trapped inside a burning church.
 
This is not a collection addition. This will not be reformulated. This will not return.
Twenty small bottles exist. When the tenth leaves — that's it. The ritual closes. Forever.
 
 
The Scent
Black plum liqueur, overripe, spilling across hot stone. Swollen. Almost fermented. Wrong in the best way. Saffron and Baltic Amber ash cuts through —  glowing, like embers lifting toward a ceiling that's already gone.
Then the rose. Not the rose you know. We hate simple rose scent. Bruised. Carnal. Thick with something you shouldn't want this badly. It melts — into myrrh, into frankincense that stopped praying a long time ago.
The base doesn't dry down. It clings.
Labdanum like tar on skin. Musks that pulse. Dark vanilla burnt at the edges — the kind of sweetness that feels like a mistake you'll make again. Cashmere smoke underneath everything, slow and permanent, like heat that never left the stone.
 
It smells like narcotics dissolved into incense. Like flesh warmed by fire that was never accidental. Like devotion that curdled into something better.
 
Erotic. Blasphemous. Deliberate. 
 
Notes: Black plum · Saffron · Baltic amber · Rose · Myrrh · Frankincense · Labdanum · Animalic musks · Vanilla · Cashmere
Fragrance family: Dark oriental gourmand
Mood: Intimate · Seductive · Comfortingly dangerous
Concentration: Eau de Parfum (2 ml)
Gender: Beyond
Vegan & cruelty-free Handcrafted in small ritual batches
 
The Omen
 
One of the ten bottles carries the wooden Necros cap.
You won't know which one. We won't tell you. There are no clues.
Whoever receives it gets a voucher for one full-size Necros perfume — any, free, no conditions.
No lottery. No announcement. You'll find out when it arrives.
 
Twenty small bottles. One Omen. No God present.