Old Lace, gasoline, old books, vanilla bean At first I was certain it was too sweet for me. The powdery lace grabs your sinuses and won't let go. But warmed up on the skin, you really can smell the acrid gasoline and the dusty paper. Where the vanilla would have added such a lovely, heavy cauldron in which these scents could have tousled, alas, it falls short. Still very playfully dark. Like flesh-colored fishnet stockings. Or cherry moonshine.