Recently, I won a contest from These Unquiet Things, an elegant blog for kindred glooms. I was the lucky recipient of two bottles of scented oils from Swan Children Alchemy. Proprietress and scenteur Aubrey Rachel Violet Bramble offers “Oil blends, crystal magic, and herbal wisdom for personal empowerment and maximum luminosity.”
Yes. I’m here for all of this. I received Morrigan and Red Room. More on them in a moment.
Since I am such a lover of scent, I thought I’d post a piece of flash fiction I wrote based on my impression of the fragrance. Splash it on, live in it for a bit, then write a story. Hence the name, Splash & Flash.
The lovely Sarah Elizabeth from TUT also included a few other fragrance samples I’ll splash and flash at a later date. On the day I received the gift, I took a photo of the contents.
As Above So Below temporary tattoos
A Becky Munich heart-shaped sticker and Goddess Witch bookmark
Concrete Minerals vegan mineral eyeshadow in Kinky
Raven’s foot grosgrain ribbon
Vampire queen mirror (The irony of that is not lost on me.)
6 perfume samples:
-Black Forest from Black Phoenix Alchemy Laboratory
-Starry Night from Montale
-Poudre de Riz from Huitieme Art
-Black Gemstone from Stephane Humbert Lucas 777
-Malefic Tattoo Extrait from LM Parfums
-Floriental from Comme de Garcons
I’m focusing on Swan Children’s magnificent oil fragrances. First up: Morrigan.
Last week, I had some struggles, both personal and professional. When I opened the box, I was drawn immediately to the Morrigan scent, part of their Goddess collection.
A dark and mysterious forest calls to your inner crow through a deathly blend of dragon’s blood, juniper berry, black pepper, fir needle, patchouli, and sweet almond oil with an inky black onyx obelisk holding queenly court in the center of the vial.
Onyx is sacred to The Morrigan. It is an iron-clad protector against black magic and negative energies while also facilitating energetic invisibility, and it is a strong fortifier of deep personal power and magical wisdom.
I felt inspired wearing this fragrance. Powerful and capable. The scent lingered, draping me in its protective embrace. I was beyond those struggles of earlier in the week and I sat at my laptop and powered through my workload.
At the end of the day, I still felt a latent energy pulsing through me, instead of the creeping fatigue that sometimes assaults me at mid-afternoon and lingers, unwelcome. As such, here is the flash piece I wrote while wearing Morrigan:
The chains binding her snapped, releasing a metallic ozone into the incense-laden air. Lightning struck, drawn to her damp tongue, igniting her and burning away the sludge that had encased her more firmly than the irons had.
She was free once again.
She slipped from the damaged husk, her feet bare and new and strong. Kissing her cage, her prison—her old self—she thanked it for shrouding her. Then crushed it underfoot, leaving it to char in the fires of before.
The second fragrance I tried was Red Room, Number 10 from the Twin Peaks Collection.
Terror. Shadows. Doppelgängers. And a strange little dancing man. The scent of danger, unfiltered.
Top notes: hallucinogenic incense smoke
Middle notes: motor oil, scorched wood
Base notes: tobacco ash, ambrette, murky forests
Terror and shadows. My wheelhouse. But sitting at my computer, draped in the scents of fear, I trembled a little. My other perfumes, those of light and sea and citrus, seemed far away. As the scent bloomed on my skin, I inhaled darkness. The temptation of indulging deeper, baser desires. And I wrote.
That Type of Girl
What’s that? On your face?
Lipstick, surely. Rouge, maybe. Smeared, ground, rubbed into your bare nails to tint them a rusty red. But you don’t wear rouge.
The mist of memory swirls, runs.
Under your nails…dirt. A line of it. You bring your hands to your head to contain the throbbing, the pounding.
Gardening. You’d been in the garden. Planting.
You yawn, then wince. Flex your cheek to ease the dull pain.
Cool. Cold. Tiles. You’re in the bathroom. Your reflection the mirror tells you that.
Then she tells you: You don’t garden.
And you remember.
He hit you.
But… you wouldn’t. You’d never…hurt anyone, would you? You’re not like that.
Your reflection smiles. Rouged cheeks and red lips. Rusty red.
She tells you: You would.
But she’ll keep your secret.
I’ve never posted flash on my blog before, so let me know what you think of it. Thanks for reading and if you love scent, be sure to check out Swan Children’s selections!