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Gracias a la gazeta oficial de Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab al fin sabemos en qué se inspiraron para crear estos perfumes. Aquí la información que también podréis leer en : The Last Unicorn: Series I
THE LILAC WOOD (árboles atemporales, flores eternas, hierba brillante y sombras suaves)
It was always spring in her forest, because she lived there, and she wandered all day among the great beech trees, keeping watch over the animals that lived in the ground and under bushes, in nests and caves, earths and treetops. Generation after generation, wolves and rabbits alike, they hunted and loved and had children and died, and as the unicorn did none of these things, she never grew tired of watching them.
It was always spring in her forest, because she lived there, and she wandered all day among the great beech trees, keeping watch over the animals that lived in the ground and under bushes, in nests and caves, earths and treetops. Generation after generation, wolves and rabbits alike, they hunted and loved and had children and died, and as the unicorn did none of these things, she never grew tired of watching them.
Ageless trees, everblooming flowers, brilliant grass, and soft shadows.
THE LAST UNICORN (pétalos helados de lila, raices de lirios, violetas, chocolate blanco, coco, sándalo blanco, entre otros)
The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam, but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea.
Frosty lilac petals, iris pallida root, orris, violet leaf, white chocolate, coconut, wild lettuce, white sandalwood, and oakmoss.
THE BUTTERFLY (frijol marrón, ámbar dorado, bergamont y petigrain)
Then one afternoon the butterfly wobbled out of a breeze and lit on the tip of her horn. He was velvet all over, dark and dusty, with golden spots on his wings, and he was as thin as a flower petal. Dancing along her horn, he saluted her with his curling feelers. “I am a roving gambler. How do you do?”
Then one afternoon the butterfly wobbled out of a breeze and lit on the tip of her horn. He was velvet all over, dark and dusty, with golden spots on his wings, and he was as thin as a flower petal. Dancing along her horn, he saluted her with his curling feelers. “I am a roving gambler. How do you do?”
Fuzzy brown tonka bean, golden amber, bergamot, and petitgrain.
THE MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL (crueldad y confinamiento, magia menor e ilusiones por un penique: mirra, teca, narcisos, pachouli, cacao, lavanda y musgo negro, entre otros)
There were nine wagons, each draped in black, each drawn by a lean black horse, and each baring barred sides like teeth when the wind blew through the black hangings. The lead wagon was driven by a squat old woman, and it bore signs on its shrouded sides that said in big letters: MOMMY FORTUNA’S MIDNIGHT CARNIVAL. And below, in smaller print: Creatures of night, brought to light.
Cruelty and confinement, small magics and penny illusions: galbanum, teak, myrrh, narcissus, patchouli, cacao, labdanum, agarwood, lavender, neroli, and black moss.
THE NINTH CAGE (mezcla claustrofóbica de hierro y roble)
The unicorn hardly heard him. She turned and turned in her prison, her body shrinking from the touch of the iron bars all around her. No creature of man’s night loves cold iron, and while the unicorn could endure its presence, the murderous smell of it seemed to turn her bones to sand and her blood to rain. The bars of her cage must have had some sort of spell on them, for they never stopped whispering evilly to one another in clawed, pattering voices.
The unicorn hardly heard him. She turned and turned in her prison, her body shrinking from the touch of the iron bars all around her. No creature of man’s night loves cold iron, and while the unicorn could endure its presence, the murderous smell of it seemed to turn her bones to sand and her blood to rain. The bars of her cage must have had some sort of spell on them, for they never stopped whispering evilly to one another in clawed, pattering voices.
A claustrophobic blend of iron and oak.
ARACHNE OF LYDIA (suave marrón y tyrian púrpura: grosella negra y algo polvoriento)
Rukh was standing before a cage that contained nothing but a small brown spider weaving a modest web across the bars. “Arachne of Lydia,” he told the crowd. “Guaranteed the greatest weaver in the world — her fate’s the proof of it. She had the bad luck to defeat the goddess Athena in a weaving contest. Athena was a sore loser, and Arachne is now a spider, creating only for Mommy Fortuna’s Midnight Carnival, by special arrangement. Warp of snow and woof of flame, and never any two the same. Arachne.”
Strung on the loom of iron bars, the web was very simple and almost colorless, except for an occasional rainbow shiver when the spider scuttled out on it to put a thread right. But it drew the onlookers’ eyes — and the unicorn’s eyes as well — back and forth and steadily deeper, until they seemed to be looking down into great rifts in the world, black fissures that widened remorselessly and yet would not fall into pieces as long as Arachne’s web held the world together. The unicorn shook herself free with a sigh, and saw the real web again. It was very simple, and almost colorless.
“It isn’t like the others,” she said. “No,” Schmendrick agreed grudgingly. “But there’s no credit due to Mommy Fortuna for that. You see, the spider believes. She sees those cat’s-cradles herself and thinks them her own work. Belief makes all the difference to magic like Mommy Fortuna’s. Why, if that troop of witlings withdrew their wonder, there’d be nothing left of all her witchery but the sound of a spider weeping. And no one would hear it.”
Soft brown and Tyrian purple: dusty clove and blackcurrant.
MOMMY FORTUNA (cariño, pólvora, magia por dos peniques)
When the first wagon drew even with the place where the unicorn lay asleep, the old woman suddenly pulled her black horse to a stop. All the other wagons stopped too and waited silently as the old woman swung herself to the ground with an ugly grace. Gliding close to the unicorn, she peered down at her for a long time, and then said, “Well. Well, bless my old husk of a heart. And here I thought I’d seen the last of them.” Her voice left a flavor of honey and gunpowder on the air. “If he knew,” she said and she showed pebbly teeth as she smiled. “But I don’t think I’ll tell him.”
Honey, gunpowder, and pleonectic, twopenny magics.
Como bien dicen en la gazeta, éste es el primero de cuatro sets que componen la colección The Last Unicorn. Cada tres meses saldrá un nuevo set, con siete esencias cada uno. Black Phoenix Trading Post, además de desarrollar estos perfumes, también creará joyas inspiradas en la temática además de accesorios para el baño y cuidado del cuerpo. ¡Todo sobre The Last Unicorn!
Os recordamos que a parte de comprarlo directamente a Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, podéis adquirir estos productos comprándolos a través de the Conlan Press site.
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2 comentarios:
Frosty pétalos color lila, la raíz del iris pallida, lirio, hoja de violeta, chocolate blanco, coco, lechuga silvestre, madera de sándalo blanco y musgo de roble
que bien tiene que oler XDDDD
me ha llamado mucho la atención de igual manera el perfume de mama fortuna XDD
A mí también me parecen súper curiosos. Aunque el olor de chocolate no pega por ningún lado (al menos eso me parece a mí). Yo quizás me anime a comprar alguna esencia, pero no es mi prioridad. Me parecen algo caras y de todos modos, no soy muy amiga de los perfumes (me marean mucho). Pero estoy muerta de curiosidad ;)
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