High Strangeness

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The library is exquisite. Truly, most people do not grow up in a grand mansion, complete with an oversized library just full of books, old manuscripts, and two fireplaces. Everything is made of exquisitely polished wood, and there’s always fires burning in both fireplaces, even in the middle of summer, yet the room is never too warm. Awfully drafty, these old houses. Windows sometimes just blow right open, lace curtains billowing in the random, intense breezes that rush through the room. Every chair is upholstered in velvet; there’s a settee and an oversized chaise lounge for long, decadent reading sessions. It’s one of the few rooms in the house that never stops smelling of high quality cigars, although neither you nor your parents smoke. There’s also a distinct note of coffee, probably from some old, stained books that were much-loved and much-read and, therefore, likely much-spilled-upon-with-caffeinated-beverages. And, like the rest of the house, it smells like money. Old money. Runs deep in the veins and the pockets money. “My uncle Ralph only read Ayn Rand” kind of money.

While it creeped you out a bit growing up, when you come home to visit now, it’s your favorite part of the house. It’s absolutely private, and there are plush blankets to wrap around yourself while you read books nobody has touched since… well, since the last time you were home, most likely. Books bound in leather, soft cloth that tears as you hold it, or in rich, brocaded velvet. It’s an absolute and total pleasure to spend at least one day in that library, ignoring the world and drinking too much coffee in divine, delicious solitude, with nothing but books for comfort. That is, until the window dramatically opens, throwing the curtain wide. “Uncle Ralph, seriously, I tell you this every time I’m home: I’m not going to read any more Ayn Rand. I read one book and was a total asshole to everyone for two weeks; I’m not doing it again. Although it does explain your life a lot more.” The window shuts again with an air of superiority and what sounds like a “harrumph!” The distinct scent of ancient currency wafts into your nose. Oh, Uncle Ralph. You ring the bell for the maid, who promptly brings in a tray of coffee and snacks. Time to continue ignoring the rest of the world and devouring the contents of this library (and these snacks) for as long as humanly possible.

Scent notes: A rich, sticky base of vanilla absolute, tobacco absolute, cocoa absolute, and coffee absolute. Sweet benzoin resin, guiac wood and mysore sandalwood oils swirl with black oud wood, honey, and a whisper of dark cherries

100ml bottle, only ships to the US and Canada

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