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Orris, black amber, bergamot, plum and grapefruit. Orris grabs my nose first, but it's quickly overcome by the sparkle of grapefruit and the sweetness of plum. Very quickly, the orris recedes into the background to become a supporting note, and it takes Megaera from having moderate depth to a very complex and strong character. Although it takes a while, the bergamot offers up its distinct tones, but they don't last long at the forefront. Suprisingly, the grapefruit lasts longer, and the plum stays with me longest of the fruit notes - all of these borne on the soft-as-fur shoulders of black amber, which makes this sultry and just the tiniest bit petulant. This is such a warm, fruity scent - think of Jester all grown up, completely womanly, and pal-ing around with Old Venice part of the time; that will give you the basic idea of Megaera, but she'll have to be tried for you to really understand her.

Dark musk and black amber with frankincense, red sandalwood, neroli and bergamot. First on, it's all musk and black amber, with a hint of of the bergamot. In just a couple of minutes, though, the red sandalwood starts to lead the pack. The neroli sort of hangs on top of the whole process, just making it's way in on the breeze when Titus walks up, but coming in heavier, lush waves on gusts of air while he's standing there. This stays remarkably balanced. After the first five minutes, it's an even, lightly powdery, very masculine scent with enduring wood and resin tones under it all. I can see why Beth's particularly pleased with this one - it's goooood. When I dream about my cowboy friend, this is how he smells.

Limited Edition, Winter 2003 - GINGERBREAD POPPET Warm, cozy gingerbread spiced with nutmeg, clove and cinnamon. That delicious gingerbread note in Gluttony? This is the original. Spicy, delectable, and just like walking into your grandmother's house at the holidays, Gingerbread Poppet will make you want to nibble on yourself - or better yet, make someone else want to nibble on you. Not overwhelmingly sweet or artificial in the least, and very nearly edible; this isn't your craft-store gingerbread potpourri scent. True and yummy!

Non compos mentis, indeed! A contrary, conflicted scent, bubbling with merry madness. Contains apple, rose, and lemon. Fruity rose, indeed! The lemon really gives the rose a sharper "push" off my skin, and the apple provides an entirely different crisp, green juicy element. Fun and lovely, although Beth makes so many other wonderful rose scents that I probably won't wear this one as much as it deserves.

Grants courage under extreme conditions, helps overcome fear of death, and strengthens the fortitude of artists and businessmen, enabling them to further their goals. Cloves stand out in this for me, but are blended with a subtle herbal scent that seems to have jasmine, as well. Pleasant, and unobtrusive, even with scents that I don't usually like. So closely intertwined it's almost impossible to identify individual notes, but definitely uplifting. NOTE: This review is for the BPAL Bewitching Brew. If you're looking for the Twilight Alchemy Lab oil of the same name, those reviews are here. --Shollin

Envelop yourself in the soft, sensual embrace of gentle sandalwood warmed by cocoa vanilla and a veil of deep myrrh. The cocoa vanilla is quickly lost in the overpowering sandalwood. If the sandalwood and cocoa vanilla could balance each other, with the myrrh just biting into the sweetness, this would be stellar. Sadly, it's not. Like pencil shavings and melted chocolate mushed together in the very dirty palm of a grade school boy.

The crisp, clean scent of green tea touched with lemon verbena and honeysuckle. My spring/summer staple! Sparkling, pure, and clean without the "cleaning supply" smell many lemon and tea scents take on. One of my all-time favorites. Old Shanghai is a multi-tasker: wearing this puts me completely at peace while invigorating me at the same time, clears my senses, soothes my toddler when she's fussy, and - you're going to laught at me for this one - shuts down a hungry tummy.

From the Love Potions collection: A woman of exquisite, unearthly beauty, profound intelligence, wit, and exceeding wealth, the Queen of Sheba - called Bilquis by the Muslims and Makeda by the ancient Abyssinians - traveled by caravan to Solomon's realm seeking proof of the king's reputed wisdom. Bearing gifts of exotic spices, a veritable mountain of gold, hearty camels and precious stones, she presented herself to the king and, bearing her heart to him, asked him a series of challenging questions, and was ultimately convinced of the truth of his wisdom, knowledge and judiciousness. In the end, the great king and queen conquered each other's hearts and fell breathlessly in love: the perfect marriage of equals. Her scent is a bounty of golden honeyed almonds and a whisper of African and Middle Eastern spices. The Queen of Sheba is absolute luxury without the taint of utter decadence, and the golden honeyed almonds lead off the scent as a sign of this. Sweet, heady, and with a green-red jumble of peppercorn and golden saffron whispering through like flowing silks, she warms to amber and maybe the tiniest drop of sweet wormwood without ever really moving completely over to them. In the end, I'm resplendent in a soft envelope of faintly sweet spice that's a bit of Haunted and a bit of Old Morocco. Although I don't smell any in this scent, my mental image is one of honey enhanced with these wonderful things, as this doesn't have the dryness of Old Morocco; it's almost fluid in its insistent whisper. Moderate strength and staying power, fantastic wafting power off the skin; this one is a definite purchase for me.</span>

A scent as heavy as thunder from the Vatican, with notes that inspire every sin and excess. Black opium, with vetivert and honeysuckle. Silks and velvets, lush blooms crushed under writhing bodies, the richest and best that exists - full-blown honeysuckle made even headier by black poppy. I can practically feel drooping, fantastically smooth petals brush past my nose. Vetivert lends a minimal, earthy, grounding note and takes a while to come out; this isn't the heavy root scent described in the single-note reviews, so don't be afraid to try Anathema. It's the biggest, boldest, most gloriously in-your-face floral by Beth I've ever tried, decadent and with an aura that's twice life-sized.

A brace of loaded pistols He carried night and day; He never robbed a poor man Upon the king's highway; But what he'd taken from the rich, Like Turpin and Black Bess, He always did divide it With the widow in distress. Stand and deliver! Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather. First on, Highwayman hits me with a wave of vetiver. Since vetiver is a scent I prefer in small quantities, I'm a little anxious for the drydown and what other notes may come through. The other notes do come through, and start to show themselves fairly quickly. There's a gorgeous floral decadence of jasmine and rose twined together, and the cinnamon is quick to warm up and meld into them. The leather is there, too - while it's just a hint, it's that fabulous pure leather note at work in DeSade - like rubbing your hands over a leather saddle and being able to smell the scent, mixed with everything else, on your fingers later in the day. I had to try Highwayman twice to find the gardenia. Think of a gorgeous man standing next to a tangle of flowering bushes, and that's where the florals come in - they're not really even supporting cast; it's like smelling two distinct presences at one time but not being able to disassociate them. Highwayman did end up seeming very masculine to my nose, because the leather became more definite as time went by, and the cinnamon gives it a different sort of earthy quality than the vetiver led me to believe it would have. If I stick my nose up close to the spot of this blend on my wrist, I don't care for it; the vetiver becomes the focal point and is more than I prefer. If I sniff a couple of inches away, though, it's wonderful - very clear, and surprisingly light. I'll be slathering the imp on the man in my life, and then moving away from him for about three minutes to avoid the vetiver wave. At that point, if it smells as good on him as it does on me after drying down and warming up, I'll be investing in a bottle.[/font]

A scent pulsing with vitality, warmth and insurmountable strength: dragon's blood resin, red and black musks, a throb of fig and a sliver of black currant. Black currant and fig sweeten the dragon's blood resin in the first sniff for a beautiful start, and quickly are overtaken by the red and black musks. Beth's description is much better than anything I could come up with, because this really is all about warmth and vitality, with no cinnamon or spices in sight. If you've ever seen steps with a round spot in them from years of wear, think of that image in deep, polished red-brown wood and you've got Dragon's Heart.

Pure internal harmony and spiritual bliss: the perfected meditation blend. I am going to be so embarassed when I find out what's actually in this one; it'll be one of those "smack-yourself-in-the-forehead" moments, because I *know* these scents. If Beth didn't do such a good job of blending them, this would be much easier. My first impression was a drop of chocolate, a mystery floral that shouldn't be a mystery, as I've smelled and reviewed this note, and touch of cloves. I mean it when I say a touch of cloves; I really have to search to identify it before my chemistry shoves it into overdrive, but it's enough to throw me off the track on the floral note, which I'm beginning to suspect is frangipani. Tranquil and soft, like an old shirt you've worn soft ... but better. There's peace and contentment in this, with a hefty dose of depth and disconnection blended in. Subtle, with strength and nobility.

An agricultural gargoyle. Though he is the Guardian of the Crops and Keeper of the Fields, his visage is still the stuff of nightmares. The scent of a hot wind blowing through desolate, scorched, barren fields. This up-and-coming scent is still listed as a work in progress, so the Imp I received with my order may or may not be what it turns out to be when it's released. At first, Scarecrow reminded me of cleaning my stove while it's still hot, but accidentally spraying some of the cleaning fluid too close to the burner. Absolutely a scorched, wet-turned-dry, and harsh smell when first applied to my skin. After a moment, though, Scarecrow is a slightly disturbing, oddly comforting blend of desiccation and dried grass - I can easily picture the stubble of a harvested crop, dried husks blowing across a Dust Bowl era field, and ground so thirsty it can barely offer its scent up to the stuffy-guy standing watch over it. Half an hour later, this is soft and light, but with a definite presence. It's golden, but not in the limpid sense of Aureus or dusty in the wooden sense of Seance. I'm used to Oklahoma's red clay and the black earth of Nebraska, but this is the faded, sun-dried, and cracked yellow earth landscape of Roland Deschain in Stephen King's Gunslinger series. I started out thinking I wouldn't be wearing this regularly, but I can't stop sniffing my wrist. It's going on my to-order list, without question.

The Lion, from Mad Tea Party: The dry, glorious warmth of the Savannah. A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious. He's strong and swarthy, with the tiniest bit of cinnamon and moderate spice hanging in the air around him. I swear I smell the cat smell that comes off the lions at the zoo - thick fur, a bit of dirt, and some sort of hay or pellet-ed food from a nearby enclosure. There's a hint of sweetness - I don't know if this Lion is from the Wardrobe, or the Lion and Unicorn scene in Alice, but he very well could have been eating mirror cake to get this faint sweetness under it all. Maybe a hint of clove, or ginger? I don't usually care for those two, so I can't identify which it is, but it's very nice here. The Lion dries down soft, fuzzy, and with a faint, powdered-sugar lushness that keeps it from being exactly sweet. That particular note is similar to the divine soft, almost-sweet, dryness in Old Morocco, but without the saffron vibe. I imagine this is what it would smell like to walk up to a sleeping lion at the zoo -one who's just had a bath and is laying in the sun, after rolling around in a patch of soft dried grass - and bury your face in his warm, wooly mane. Edited to add - I ordered a bottle of Egyptian Amber single note from the Lab, and hadn't opened it yet. The minute I opened the bottle, I was bowled over by both the scent and my ignorance, because it was the faintly cinnamon note in the Lion that I love but couldn't identify - turns out the Lion is loaded with egyptian amber! EDIT: Added Lab's new description, moved from Up-and-Coming --Shollin

Beautiful, radiant daughter of Demeter... her loveliness was so exquisite that even Hell itself could not resist her. Pomegranate and rose. Persephone is a crisply sweet rose scent that drew RAVE reviews from the guys in my office. It was hard to keep a straight face while guys ten years younger than I tried to explain to the student worker in the office how feminine and *juicy* she smelled, all while I'm standing at the copy machine three feet away and being the actual culprit. She got four dates out of it, so it'll be a repeat purchase for me, and perhaps a birthday present to her!

A nocturnal bounty of fae dew-kissed petals and pale fruits: white grape, white peach, iced pear, musk rose, sweet pea, moonflower and snapdragon. Pastel fruits drenched in morning dew - the white grape, white peach, and pale yellow pear are gorgeous and delicately sweet. The petals are blended so well that a single note is hard to identify, although the sweet pea seems to be the most prominent, and the dew figures prominently into this scent - it really sparkles in an aquatic, dripping, and slightly breezy way. In the end ... actually, from about the first thirty seconds on ... Titania is one of the most "melded" scents I've tried; the individual notes are almost indistinguishable, and the nature of the scent is complete and otherworldly. Titania is a hidden garden grove of common fruits and flowers, but so much better than the "everyday" that they seem unreal in their perfection. Glittering with moisture graced to them by a presence you can't quite comprehend, the fruit and petals are at the single instant of being exactly ripe and full-blown, and you're stumbling across a moment of perfection that wasn't meant for we lesser mortals. Light, intense, and ethereal.

Brings peace to the spirit, a sense of calm and fulfillment, and attracts the aid of beneficial spirits. This is the embodiment of the color green. It's a flowing sort of green, like tree leaves rustling in the wind or water barely moving in a lagoon, and it's a warm sort of green - herbal, but not really, and it's a solid sort of green, with the strength of a field where kids are running through a field chasing fireflies, breaking stalks as they go. Go easy applying this one. It's soothing, but it's stout. It's really a (sorry, fellas) single drop in your cleavage kind of oil, and that lasted me for hours. Definitely brought me peace and a sense of calm; I was facing three exams and a major project in the course of 18 hours, and I was able to stop, re-focus, and relax my shoulders to more than 2 inches below my ears, all within five minutes of putting this on.

From the Funereal Oils collection: An allegorical expression of the ineffable, indisputable triumph of death, generally expressed in medieval artwork as a violin or flute-wielding skeleton leading a procession of dancers to their graves. Black cypress with oakmoss, frankincense, oude, and a sliver of toasted hazelnut. Out of the vial, this seems sharp and not all that promising. Long ago, though, I committed myself to trying any and all BPAL that came in front of me, so I dabbed in on, anyhow. The frankincense is the more bitter, resinous note I'm used to, and the oakmoss provides a grounding, earthier tone for it. There's a slight astringent note that quickly warms and blends, and it's reminiscent of a drop of juniper - and a little drop, at that - I don't know if that's the oude, which the internet tells me comes off of the aloeswood tree. This dries down to warm wood and light, and the barest touch of soft hands on the back of your neck. Subtle, relaxed, and full of inevitablity, Danse Macabre would have me snuggling up to a man who wears it, and I'd wear it myself, although probably not often enough to use more than an Imp.

A dizzying eddy of four teas brushed with light herbs and a breath of peony. I may have found my signature scent. For me, the Dormouse is fresh green apples, with the juice of a ripe peach splashed all oved it from one big, messy bite. Perhaps a little fig, too, although the fig note Beth uses doesn't always register with my nose as such. These are such a perfect blend, without being bubble-gummy or fruit-baskety. Definite dewy greenery, too - maybe dandelion? Clear, with a crystalline lustre to it - almost vibrates on my skin. I am basking in this one; I can't wait to find out what the ingredients are and to be able to order a full-size bottle! EDIT: Added Lab's new description and moved this to Mad Tea Party - it's official! --Shollin

A paean to all the Wicked Queens, Evil Stepmothers, and other misunderstood villainesses throughout history and lore. Lends an aura of majesty, refinement, strength, and a deep, brooding malice. A sophisticated, womanly scent: rich myrrh and jasmine draped in the subtlest rose. Just a hint of rose, draped like a mantle over regal jasmine. Bitterness is evident in the snap of myrhh, and the whole picture is one of a strong, wealthy woman intent on revenge. The jasmine never goes soapy, and the rose sweetens as a counterpoint to the bite and depth of the myrhh. In just a couple of minutes the individual notes disappear and the combination is locked together, radiating from my skin in epicurean waves.

From the Sin and Salvation collection: Voluptuous magnolias strewn over orchid, star jasmine, black amber and smoky rose. Prefaced with a reminder that my chemistry typically has problems with jasmine; you may want to take this into consideration, or even disregard, my review unless you have a similary tendency. Orchids. Roses. Oh, and now the amber's starting to warm up and make itself known. <sigh of pleasure> I can't believe that I've had this on for five minutes and the jasmine hasn't clawed its way to the top to generously give me the usual headache. The magnolia took a while to make itself known, but when it did - divine white blooms that smell big enough to cover a dinner plate, and transmitting almost effortlessly a sense of velvety petals with berry-coloured hearts. Complex and definitive, Black Dahlia turned out to be about the orchid, magnolia and amber, rather than having jasmine and rose take the lead. I'm not sure how Beth managed, since those two scents tend to dominate blends quite easily, but this a different kind of floral than we typically see. I'd consider a bottle, but can guarantee I'd use the whole imp.

Whimsical, temperamental, radiant and ravishingly beautiful Goddess of Volcanoes, Fire, Lightning and Dance. She is the Mother of Eruptions and the personification of destructive power. Volcanic eruptions are said to be a side-effect of her jealous rages and her epic quarrels with her siblings are legendary. This perfume embodies her gentler, benign aspect as the capricious Goddess of Dance: muguet and Hawaiian white ginger enveloped by warm, damp tropical blooms. This up-and-coming scent is still listed as a work in progress, so the Imp I received with my order may or may not be what it turns out to be when it's released. Absolutely stunning, Pele is the embodiment of Hawaiian florals. White blooms carried by the armful up a volcano slope, they're gently dusted with pale yellow pollen that leaves them with a pale golden sheen. I'm guessing Hawaiian white ginger (pikake), a touch of hibiscus, and wisps of plumeria. Soft, creamy, and all woman. Lush and sensual, she's certainly not the kind of woman you'd scorn. Can't wait to see what this turns out to be; even though I'm not a fan of white florals, this tropical gem is definitely on my to-order list! [added official description ~qs]

A hazy, soft, veiled scent: mist floating through twilit skies, curling gently towards the heavens. Faint white tea, yuzu, perhaps?, and the "mystery green" that's been boggling me in recent scent additions. It's a pale, almost bamboo-like green, and it gives Empyreal Mist a feeling of dew on pale green stalks. Pastel floral, but not a pale one, creeps through, too - cherry blossom, I'm guessing. There's a large meadow in front of my parents' house, and it's bordered on one side by a fence and the other by five ancient pear trees. Empyreal Mist is a dense fog rolling in over that meadow, and I can smell what's just been covered and dampened, and everything close to the fog line is fuzzy and surreal. Another winner in the recent scent additions, although not my favorite of them. This would be perfect for those who find Old Shanghai to be too strong; it's light and feminine but has staying power.

An ancient, free-willed race created from the essence of Fire, much as man was created from Earth. They prowled the land at night, vanishing with the first rays of dawn. Myths surrounding the Djinn paint them as many things: benevolent champions of mankind and slaves to mad sorcerers, malicious incubi / succubi and energy vampires, or malevolent harbingers of madness and disease. The Djinn are ruled by Iblis, the Prince of Darkness, who bears unspeakable contempt for man. The scent of black smoke, of crackling flames, and smoldering ashes. Out of the vial, Djinn is sharp and acrid, much like stinging, eye-reddening smoke feels. I have no idea what the notes in this one are, but they're familiar and disturbing to me. I don't hesitate to tell you that, while not the smell of a campfire or woodsmoke, this IS the smell of destruction a fire leaves after it's consumed all it can. When I was a child, just before my seventh birthday, our home burned to the ground. Djinn makes me think of the look on my father's face as we walked through rubble that was still smoldering on the concrete foundation of our house, and the eerily pleasant scent of melted metal that hung in the air around what was left of the washing machine. That said, it's also the defiant scent of transformation and renewal. It's not unpleasant, as my imagery might lead you to think - Djinn dries down to the cold October air filled with flying bits of burning paper and other cinders, dry autumn leaves burning sweetly in the melee, and the combination of soot and soap on my mother's skin as she shivered in her bathrobe and we watched our neighbors run in and out of the house with whatever they could save. In the end, this scent has the character of ashes rubbed between your fingers; so smooth and velvety you keep rubbing a pinch between your thumb and forefinger, entranced by the texture and motion.

A potent, enticing love formula, favored among Louisiana courtesans. While I absolutely love BPAL, this one wasn't my favorite. Blended from an original voodoo recipe, it's distincively herbal but dries down to a warm, mossy green scent. I have to give it a thumbs up on the results, though - I am lavished with attention when I wear it.