Scents

Vivos Plango, Mortuos Voco

I mourn the living. I call the dead.

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This perfume was never meant to comfort. It was made for remembrance.
It carries the weight of stone, the smoke of ruins, and the shadow of gallows. A scent for the restless dead — and for the living who still carry their scars.

The opening cuts cold: wet stone, old incense, and the metallic bite of blood on the tongue. Beneath, you find ash, burnt wood, and the bitter green of crushed nettles — like fields after soldiers have passed.

At the heart, candle smoke drifts through abandoned churches, wrapped in myrrh and the ghost of altar wine. Shadows linger here, the kind that never belonged to the light.

The base is heavy and unyielding: black earth, iron chains, dried funeral wreaths. It clings to the skin like history refusing to be buried.

Vivos Plango, Mortuos Voco is not nostalgia. It is a tolling bell — a reminder of those who will not be forgotten.

Doll-Like Creature

She was never broken. Just left behind.

A fragrance that captures the fragile beauty of porcelain and the unsettling presence of something not quite human. Doll-Like

Creature is both delicate and haunting — soft edges fractured by shadows.

It opens with a chill of forgotten rooms, powdered sweetness, and the faint metallic echo of abandonment.

At its heart, a strange comfort emerges: smoke, faded florals, and the ghost of lullabies never sung.

The base is darker, stitched from earth, resin, and sorrow — yet softened by fleeting hints of warmth, like mint tea and sugar at midnight.

Not entirely human, not entirely monster — this scent lingers as both wound and tenderness.

Corpse of a Star

Light does not die gently. It screams.

A fragrance born from collapse — violent, luminous, unrelenting. Corpse of a Star captures the scent of cosmic death, the moment when light is torn apart and silence devours the sky.

It opens sharp and metallic, like scorched ozone and fractured air — the chill of something vast and unforgiving.

The heart is darker: smoke, cold ash, and the unsettling sweetness of things never meant to burn.

At the base, the void takes hold — black oils, heavy resin, and the weight of decay that lingers like radiation on skin.

This is not a perfume of comfort. It is a reminder that even stars rot — and that the void is always watching.